


Where We Fall

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-10
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for NaNoWriMo 2007; Janos' story, through the creation of the Pillars and the human rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andremeese](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=andremeese), [lilka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lilka), [remy_ice_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=remy_ice_angel), [gez](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gez).



Janos missed Uschtenheim.

How long had this particular visit to the Citadel lasted now? Months? Maybe a year? He had spent enough time in the Citadel for his accent to weaken, taking on the neutral tones of middle Nosgoth, and still the war stretched on, showing no signs of shifting balance. They had underestimated the Hylden, and the Hylden continued to underestimate them; both sides seemed evenly matched.

No one seemed to know who had started the war. It had become a way of life, going on long enough that no generation still alive in Nosgoth had seen a world without the war. And in turn the land itself seemed to suffer with the war, had become near uninhabitable in many areas; victory was a necessity not just for their race but for all living things, it seemed. As such, Janos was content to devote his existence to his two areas of strength; battle, and research.

Their ancestors had not written their histories, they had passed them on in speech and in murals, landmarks scattered throughout the land; go back far enough in Nosgoth's history and their ancestors had led a fascinating existence, worshipping elements more than the Wheel - indeed, the further back one went the less worship of the Wheel could be found - and devoting themselves to prophets and seers. They had predicted the war, predicted many a battle within it, but the outcome was ever uncertain. The easily accessible murals were often distorted or damaged, and few stories had been passed down by word of mouth without acquiring embellishments on the way.

The only consistencies in the prophesies were, ironically, those that had not come to pass; a saviour would come, who would wield the sword that would save them from the Hylden. Janos had devoted the half of his life not spent in battle to researching the prophesies through what scraps could be found and visiting the sites he could - had never ceased to be amazed when in the crafting of an aerie for himself he had found one hidden within the very mountains of Uschtenheim. History lay there for the uncovering all over Nosgoth, though his accidental discovery within his own home seemed unfortunately short on anything other than old, old magic that he could not hope to understand despite a firm grasp of his race's modern techniques. More murals would have been a delight.

His research had certainly helped with the development of some modern magic. Teleportation had yet to be perfected but his own teacher, Aluniel, had always been talented with the manipulation of dimensions and had done more to further the study of movement through time and space than anyone else of her generation. He seemed to have a mild alignment with states, though there were others far more skilled in that area than he; still, the combination of that alignment with his study of their ancestors' elemental magic enabled him to help perfect the crafting of fireballs and tornadoes, giving shape and direction to elements. He'd done some good work in his time at the Citadel, and while he'd yet to massively influence the outcome of any battle, his tactical skills had led him to be promoted above the basic fighting class. It wasn't a bad life given involvement in the war was inevitable regardless of where in Nosgoth one resided, be you vampire, hylden or human.

Still, he missed Uschtenheim. Waking up in warmth was alien to him; his skin was resilient to cold and missed the chill of a bright, icy morning. He longed for the purity of the snow, the crisp air, the _clean_ feeling of living in the mountains.

At least it was something he could return to, more than could be said for his longing to see his wife's face again. The intensity of that desire had largely faded with time, but still, losing her through a complicated birth and his child to sickness barely after had left him painfully lonely at too young an age to truly cope with the loss. They had to have been perfect souls, for the Wheel to want them back so soon.

.

Dressing for the morning's meeting, Janos couldn't help wondering how his own subordinates were doing. He'd sent three east to sites pointed out in an old piece of folklore; knew the fourth site mentioned full well due to it being the one attached to his aerie, knew nothing could be gained from it through further study without risking damage to the magic bound to the place, but the other sites were alleged to be larger and thus, he hoped, were likelier to have murals. He only wanted brief reports; Jayne said he'd found but not been able to find a way into the closest site, had only been able to give a description of the seal indicating the site's purpose. Elena had similar news from the south-easterly site. All three discoveries showed little more than their clear intention to guide their saviour on his journey with the Reaver.

Adjusting his trousers to sit more comfortably beneath his greaves, smooth ceremonial ones as opposed to the rune-laden creations he wore to battle, Janos' concern returned to Kylian and the fact he _hadn't_ returned. Nor had he sent word; the obvious thought was that he'd had the misfortune to run into a hylden, maybe several on the way, but attacks that far north were rare - technically Kylian ought to have been the safest. If Elena hadn't returned he would have immediately come to the conclusion of a Hylden attack being the cause; he'd have to go talk to Shia at some point, ask her if she could sense his whereabouts.

But battle duties took priority over research, and as such, he'd have to do his duty and attend the meeting even though neither his word nor his hearing would truly be required for it. Only Generals and elders had their voices listened to in such discussions and Janos was neither.

.

There was something almost darkly comical about the distance kept between both races as the members gathered sat down for the meeting. The scheduling was little better, barely an hour set aside when arguments were known to draw out for the major part of the day over the simplest of matters; still, given the amount of preparation that normally preceded such events, the organiser must have been especially confident.

The insult-slinging had already begun when Janos entered the council's chamber; largely from the Hylden side, though Sianne Lemm was using a few choice words herself, much to her fellow General's embarrassment. Blasphemous as ever, the Hylden still seemed overly proud of their finding a source of extended life despite it going against God's will, while the vampire elders were content to cut those extended lives short.

Silence finally fell as a deceptively young looking woman entered the room. Shia held the unfortunate position of being leader at these meetings, distrusted by vampires for her age and by Hylden for her neutrality despite clearly being of their blood, but was considered a necessity as she was one of the few born with farsight who had not gone mad or suicidal. It was a heavy responsibility to bear but she had found someone who could understand the depths personal responsibility could reach in her vampire husband, Samael, a renowned necromancer. She rarely interfered with the proceedings, and never explained her reasons when she did, but all had long learnt to heed her words when they were spoken.

The reason for the meeting became clear quickly enough after the room had settled down; the Hylden had not shared their opinions with regards to how prisoners of their own race should be treated. Given that the camps already set up were becoming not only cramped but a drain on resources, the vampire elders had pondered the sending home of captured women and children provided they had not been exposed to any sensitive information.

Unsurprisingly, the Hylden were decidedly unmoved by the whole idea, stating simply that it was the vampire's problem, not theirs; they didn't "make the mistake" of taking prisoners.

Looking to Shia for acceptance of the proposal, the elders whispered among themselves briefly before announcing through Sianne, "Then neither shall we."

Without batting an eyelid Shia nodded, confirmation that this change to protocol would not do undue harm to any timeline she could see, getting up and leaving shortly after making her announcement. Of course, the Hylden were furious - even though they had known the meeting was supposedly going to be short, this seemed a mockery of their time - but as far as the vampire council were concerned this war was a moral war and there would be no true victory unless it was claimed without breaking the rules.

Admittedly, as Janos well knew, rules applied little on the battlefield, especially whenever there was a weapons lay-down for meetings such as this. The Hylden had taken to sending out small groups and leading surprise attacks in these supposed peacetimes, and regardless of what the elders were told, Generals and all those beneath them knew full well that their men and women had taken to retaliating in kind.

.

After all due ceremony was over with and discarded, Janos headed towards Shia's room, biding his time as those involved with the new change in protocol took their turns visiting her to confirm the details. Their impatience in the queue grated on his nerves - despite her abilities she was but one person with two ears, and while she had the talent of being able to conduct more than one conversation at a time she had perfectly natural limits.

Realising that he might have more success in his audience with her if he brought some form of gift, Janos mused on what would be best; it could be difficult to ascertain what sort of present would be less formal than an official gift without intruding on Samael's territory. Figuring the best option was to appeal to her practicality, he recalled the stew he'd left simmering during the meeting; she had a family of three to feed, he had the habit of preparing far too much food despite having been without a wife for several years now - and even back then he'd often been overgenerous in his portion measurements. Besides, he was looking for someone lost in the present, and Shia had mentioned in the past how it was easier to search for someone if an item that had belonged to them was at hand; reason plenty to retire to his room and come back later.

.

Seeming amused at the sight of him stood with a stew pot held in robe-covered hands as protection against the heat, Shia laughed before letting him in, her eyes betraying her weariness from the unnecessary bustle of the post-meeting discussions. Eyeing her dinner table eagerly given that a little too much heat had started seeping through the robes, Janos set the pot down hastily before shaking his hands as if to will the heat to fall off his skin before turning back to her and smiling. "My apologies for the abrupt entrance."

"No apology needed given I feel I should be apologising to you for that useless meeting, protocol be damned."

He waved her comment aside before sitting down and admiring the room; simple decoration - it had to be, with Samael's blindness and the fact it had seen a baby grow into a woman - but effective. Strange to think of little Shianna as a grown woman, despite the fact he knew full well she was only two years younger than him. "You're too polite, all things considered another visitor was likely the last thing you desired."

Sitting down beside him, the chair design accommodating her particular variety of wings with less ease than it accommodated his, Shia insisted, "Were it not for the misfortune you attract I would welcome your visits, Janos."

He never understood the notion most of his kind seemed to have that Shia and her daughter were less than cordial to those who sought her advice; she'd never been anything but pleasant to him, and for all the quirks that came with being a necromancer, her husband Samael was a good man. "I won't keep you long."

"I thought not," She replied. "You're worried. Not for yourself..."

Janos nodded and handed over Kylian's robe, bowed his head slightly in apology. "He should have been back several days ago. I only need know if he is dead."

Shia closed her eyes and frowned, wincing at first, raising the robe to smell it and to still the nosebleed that came. "He... air. Bottom of a shaft. Cold. Bright. Churning sky." She shivered, eyes opening again as she returned to a fully conscious state. "Old, old stone. He's alive."

Janos breathed out in relief, thankful that at least he knew there was hope for Kylian provided he found the site quickly enough himself. Shia smiled again, seeming far more beautiful than any hylden ought to be capable of looking. There was a softness to her face that negated the reptilian look of most of her kind, softness that had only been enhanced by age, and her daughter had inherited most of that beauty. "I'm sorry if looking hurt you."

"It always hurts," Shia reminded him before folding her arms and looking towards the door. "But thank you for the apology. Most people assume I'm used to the pain by now and use that as an excuse for their rudeness. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"I had intended it for you and yours -"

"Shianna is away," Shia explained. "Flight practise. I'll make something for her when she returns. And seeing as Samael is due back soon, you two may as well catch up."

.

Aside from receiving a scolding due to his and Samael's getting into a deep discussion about the finer elemental tuning of teleportation, the meal was decidedly pleasant and, as he had guessed, there had been plenty of stew to go around. Having a full stomach made the task of planning what he would need for the journey to find Kylian much easier, thinking in a relaxed rather than stressed atmosphere more conducive to picturing possible difficulties he might face. Food and water - both for himself and Kylian - weaponry and something to sleep on when the need for rest came... rope, too, should any physical strain Kylian had suffered rendered the boy initially mindless.

The very fact a meeting had been called meant that the war, skirmishes aside, would essentially be slowed down for a few days to come so winning the approval of his superiors to excuse himself from battle during his venture was simple enough. The priests, too, were quick to give a blessing over his journey - Kylian was not advanced enough in study to be particularly well known, but his father had been a well recognised man and near everyone sympathised with worrying about a missing youth.

Despite the fact he knew there was some urgency to the journey, it was somewhat difficult to resist making plans to pass by Uschtenheim; flying straight from the site he'd sent Kylian to, judging by the maps, ought to take scarcely a day's travel. Still, he knew giving in to the craving to see the area he thought of as home despite his long absence from it would make his homesickness even worse when it returned; and besides, indulging a fanciful whim when Kylian's life was likely endangered was unspeakably selfish.

.

After packing as lightly as he could without losing any necessities from the bag slung around his hips for the sake of making long-term flying easier, it was time for orientation and from there, taking off. It would be some time before he was far enough in the north to be as safe from Hylden attacks as one could be in Nosgoth, but travelling light and solo gave him a better chance of returning home safely than taking one or two friends with him to act as look-outs.

More importantly, there was the issue of finding somewhere to make camp; those who were free to come with him were mostly unused to camping and would have found the experience unpleasant. It was hassle enough to find somewhere reasonably secure to make and disguise a tent without listening to others complaining about the cold or the rain or whatever aspect of the weather caught their attention the most.

He'd passed the area in brief once or twice - had seen most of Nosgoth in his day, though Avernus and Merididan had been lost years before his birth - but still, there was a difference between briefly glimpsing a site classed as sacred by his people and standing right before it. There was something awe-inducing about the site up close, not just in viewing but in all senses; the place _reeked_ of magic, and Janos found himself wary because there was old, old warding magic in place, some of which felt all too much like it had been set up to attack indiscriminately. Most of it felt guided, but some -

Janos leapt back as what he'd thought to be a merely decorative eye set into the wall blasted the area in which he had stood with light magic, breathed out in relief. Too close; but he'd dealt with watcher magic before, given it was a simple enough task to blind their eyes with a dark missile. In battle, dark missiles were almost invariably useless given the enemy could just move out of the dark cloud resulting from a landed shot, but a stationary target could be taken care of easily.

Nerves on edge at the thought of a second eye seeing him before he saw it nearly kept him from moving forth into the building, and froze him altogether when an impossible being leapt out of the very floor, sword and shield drenched with magic in hand. Instinct made him reach for his pike but the ragged creature stopped mid-run, as if it had suddenly realised no magic should keep its bones and ribbons of flesh together, and bowed to Janos before collapsing. Fighting the survival instinct that wanted him to turn around and leave rather than press on, Janos took the shield as an alternative to that which he had left at home and continued his exploration.

The shield proved itself useful in a different way than what he would have expected, unlocking doors until he at last faced a great statue, its length held within a great shaft, and Shia's vision came back to mind; the churning sky above, either artificial or otherworldly, seemed to confirm that he'd reached the right place.

"Kylian?"

He couldn't be certain, the damned wind whistling in his ears, but he could have sworn a small gasp could be heard from the shaft, and that was enough for him. Summoning magic towards him, something that seemed eerily easy in this place, Janos folded his arms and willed his own teleportation to the base of the shaft. He hadn't been able to see Kylian on looking down but there were tunnels leading off from the shaft in all directions and perhaps his student could be found there.

Sure enough, when he reopened his eyes, he turned barely a few inches to his right before finding Kylian's half-starved body curled up just inside the green-lit tunnel. "Kylian, are you alright?"

Kylian said nothing, only staring, but staring and breathing was good and God only knew how long the boy had been down here; if he was shocked, Janos couldn't blame him. It was hard to guess without being told how Kylian had ended up here but that said the shaft seemed too narrow with too little lift in the air for flight, and his wings looked wrong. Perhaps he'd fallen and rolled just a little into the tunnel?

Again, Janos found himself thankful for his own command of magic. Had the boy known teleportation it would have been arduous but at least possible to eventually teleport himself out of the building. No guarantee that the first creature to come across him in the outside world would be a friendly one, but Janos suspected that had the boy been left to starve completely, the option to teleport outside and take the risk of attracting enemy attention before friendly would have been a welcome one. He'd have to suggest the teaching of teleportation at an earlier stage, regardless of it being a far more difficult skill to master than basic elemental summoning.

Thank God, at least, that the strange creatures that occupied the building seemed to have been as uninterested in hurting Kylian despite their weaponry as they had been in hurting him; given time Janos would have loved to return and study the place further but getting his student to safety was the obvious priority. Gathering magic to himself again, Janos lifted Kylian into his arms and held him close, felt the shift of wings that were _definitely_ hanging wrong as he stood and summoned the both of them back to the top of the shaft. Being half-starved did at least reduce the weight of his student but it was still an effort to lead him out of the site, especially given the damned eyes still required blinding as they were passed.

.

Flight was an easier task, the journey home seeming brief in comparison to the journey there, his wings and the favourable wind supporting them both relatively comfortably as he flew. Easier still was landing after nearly a day and a half of scarcely interrupted flight and seeing the relief on people's faces when they saw it was not a corpse he carried, just a terribly scared, terribly sore young man.

Happy endings seemed rare these days, and it was a relief to have one, however imperfect Kylian's mutism rendered it.

.

He had thanked Shia once before for her searching out Kylian but given her looking had allowed Janos to bring him back alive, there was no reason not to thank her a second time. It was strangely amusing to see her faint surprise at the good news; proof if ever it existed that she was not omniscient, if a little saddening that she had expected the worst. Still, yet again Kylian's return had been an unexpected and much needed source of happiness for those who heard about it whether they knew the young man or not.

Nonetheless, Janos had requested time off for his journey to bring about Kylian's return, and time away from one's normal work could only ever be paid back in one way if one were physically fit enough; for the days he had spent away, he would have to spend a similar effort at the front line.

Janos might be a researcher at heart, but he was a good fighter regardless of his preferred occupation. He had no real enjoyment of battle, did not have an addiction to the adrenaline rush as so many others did and his technique was fairly basic, but tidy; always executed swiftly and neatly, efficient as possible. He'd survived enough skirmishes to keep calm after the initial wait, found the moments before battle worse than the battles themselves in terms of their toll on his nervous system; where others spoke of the calm before a storm, he was more familiar with the eye of it. The thick of battle let him still his thoughts to focus on pike and shield, keeping himself airborne while guarding his wings against Hylden attack. He'd seen the results of panic in battle, and where a desperate man could be dangerous, a panicking man was a danger to himself more than anyone else.

.

Stahlberg had been a hotbed for skirmish after skirmish for weeks, months on end. Too close to Avernus and Willendorf to reclaim at length for any period, the elders still seemed focused on ensuring it was not used as a point for the Hylden to expand their domain into Northern territories. Janos was near the point of losing count of how many battles there he had participated in; almost wondered if there were Hylden attending those battles who knew his face as well as distant relatives given there was something almost periodical about the fights.

An ice missile barely clipped his wing, taking a scarce few feathers with it but enough to knock his balance off for a moment. Strange irony was that it meant more suffering for the Hylden he had aimed at; now, rather than being able to deliver an instantly fatal blow to his opponent by driving the pike through his neck the attack was rendered clumsy, gashing chest wide open. A nearby ally did the decent thing by slashing at the hylden's throat before the injury left him plummeting to earth, but still, Janos hated an inhumane kill, believed the aim of battle was to obtain as swift a victory as possible, not to cause suffering regardless of what rumour said the Hylden did with fallen vampires after victories for their side.

Janos trusted in his training and, so far, had been proven right in his trust. Rule out emotion in a fight and while you might lose a little ferocity, what you gained in skill made up for that failing.

The next kill was swifter, Janos' pike slicing through his opponent's throat with almost satisfying swiftness. Air battles were the easiest to participate in but, at the same time, were harder to remain motivated throughout. Skill rarely played a part in air battles; they seemed to be won almost solely by numbers and luck.

"Do you hate this damned place as much as I do?" Yelled Elena, her hair near comical given how much had escaped the braid she'd forced it into before the battle. Anyone fit for battle with curly hair really ought to give in and cut it short, at least at front; nothing short of being weighted down by rain would stop it escaping to freedom at the most inconvenient of times. "Fine, don't ans -" She cut herself off before he could, twisting to avoid enemy claws before using her own to counterattack.

"There's a time for conversation," He yelled back, wondering if he should head away before she could say anything else then deciding against moving given he seemed to have found himself in a relatively sane part of the battlefield. The Hylden had been pushed back enough that those who lingered were fighting like hellcats, knowing they were on the verge of defeat but refusing to accept it. Even though he hated the losses they brought, Janos almost felt a sneaking admiration for those who stood and fought to the end; unlike those who fled, those who stood to the end believed in what they were fighting for, rather than in fighting for their survival. Given the Hylden's role in the world was a secular one it was unusual when they did stand up for more than whatever served them best in life; those who were truly fighting to _not_ believe in God and the Wheel were almost following a faith of their own in their savagery.

.

Again there was no need for Janos to be present as the details of the battle were relayed, but all those above basic ranks were expected to attend as the main leader conveyed information to the General they were assigned to.

"Stahlberg is retaken," Gemma stated, holding out the papers that had been drawn up. "Fatalities, injuries and prisoners -"

"You know we do not take prisoners anymore," Sianne replied, an edge of pity sliding in alongside the disapproval in her voice. "I had hoped that message was clear. Still, I can't say we did not expect initial mistakes." Sianne looked over at the chain of bound Hylden, whistled low in her throat. "The problem will be dealt with."

In all fairness, the preparations for dealing with new Hylden prisoners were swift - bordered on humane in so far as they could ever be humane - but the truth of what the preparations meant could not be denied. The Hylden had refused to take back any of their prisoners and vampire resources were pressed enough without feeding additional soldiers brought to the already established camps; the choice was between leaving them to starve or taking care of them another way.

Still, Hylden or no, there was something wrong in watching a bound man who looked scarcely an adult being led to the guillotine, blindfolded, and executed by a vampire showing less emotion than a farmer forced to put down livestock.

.

Dinner was a purely perfunctory experience, the urge to eat almost wholly absent, but even as Janos' muscles ached with fatigue his mind raced with thoughts of what he'd seen and he had no choice but to find out what God had to say about the executions - the logic behind the options was something he grasped fully, but morally the choice the elders had made felt wrong. Normally he could see God's reasoning without asking or trusted God's wisdom without question, but this once he needed help in understanding just how anyone, no matter how divine, thought all this reasonable.

"Ah, Janos. It isn't often we see you outside Mass," greeted the priest on duty outside the temple, his face familiar but not quite so familiar as to warrant first name terms. There was something almost embarrassing about the idea of being so well known by the clergy that they knew him by name; though it was entirely possible that the young man had some telepathic ability. Either way, it wasn't entirely Janos' place to ask how his name was known; it just felt slightly uncomfortable and strange.

That, or the unpleasant sight he had beheld earlier that day had left him shaken in such a way that it was having an effect on more than his appetite. "I wondered if you could ask God why he is permitting the Hylden to be executed? I see no divine purpose in -"

"Are you certain you wish to ask such a direct question?" Asked the priest, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Questioning God is generally frowned upon."

"I am aware of that," Janos acknowledged, feeling a little guilty at putting the priest through asking a question that Janos would be asking himself were he trained as a warrior-priest and thus permitted access to the temple on ordinary occasions. "I saw the executions earlier and I can not understand why God would permit such a thing. Tell him who the question came from it provokes his wrath; I would not see you hurt."

Still looking uncomfortable the priest nodded, paused for a moment seemingly in thought before heading inside the temple.

Janos did not like questioning his faith. In all honesty, he had never openly expressed any question in his adult life; as a child he had been as curious as any, pestering his parents for answers to "Why do bad things happen?", "Why does God let good people get hurt?", so on and so forth; but as an adult his faith had matured to a comfortable place and almost any question that came to mind was one he could answer himself. Still, while God and death had always been inseparable in his faith, God and bloody execution seemed wrong as a combination.

The priest looked a little harassed on his return but not quite resentful, launched straight into the answer Janos had desired; "God was displeased with your question, but his explanation was simple; the advancement of their souls to the Wheel is a blessing, given their own kind did not want them back."

As he had expected. He still felt uncomfortable, but at least there was something solid in his reasoning now that he had God's answer for certain. Thanking the priest, Janos headed to his room, stripping out of armour in need of a polish and bloodied robes before sliding under his bed sheets, not bothering with a change into night clothes. His nerves were still unsettled but battle had tired his muscles regardless, fatigue taking over swiftly as he rested his head on the pillow and carrying him into dreams.

.

_Blood_

.

Janos sat up sharply and pulled the sheets down off his back, wondering how much of the sweat was natural from being in so much warmer an environment than his body was used to, and how much had been induced by the nightmare.

He couldn't remember details, all of them swimming away as soon as he reached for them in his thoughts, but did remember the blood. Red, liquid, and pain.

.

He knew full well what had caused the dreams but had no control over the matter; he'd already questioned God over it - actually _questioned_, as if he'd had a crisis of faith - and the reasoning behind what had disturbed him was logical enough even if his soul still felt unsettled.

Dressing was uncomfortable, his nerves jarred and his skin still somewhat clammy from the dreaming. Moreover, the disturbance of his sleep left his mind feeling ill at ease; almost heavy, as if still weighed down with the previous days thoughts.

He could press on, though. No battles, only training younger recruits in simple teleportation had been scheduled for the day, and there were worse things to wake up to than the general ache of sleeplessness.

.

Teaching teleportation was always a peculiar business because it relied more on the students understanding themselves than any guidance a teacher could offer; a teacher could help with guiding later stages but the first teleport, the first movement from one place to another, was solely the charge of the pupil.

Poor Jayne was an excellent researcher but after nearly a year had yet to teleport for the first time. It was a frustration because there was no way to _describe_ how the actual teleportation process worked - guiding movements could be taught but willing oneself to move from one place to another was a skill that had to be practised. Some people got it right on the first try; others, like Jayne, were left wondering what was wrong with them.

"There must be a reason I can't do this," Jayne sighed after watching another new entrant to the classes master initial teleportation movements within a matter of minutes. "Perhaps I'm just not geared towards magic."

"Everyone has some magical ability," Janos explained gently as possible, "Some just struggle with teleportation because it isn't as elementally focused as others. Instead of thinking about the magic, think about where you want to be; relocation is more important than anything else when starting this."

Jayne closed his eyes tight, shaking slightly in concentration, but still, nothing. Worried for his student's health with so much frustration in his veins, Janos went to pat Jayne on the shoulder.

And found himself standing in the corridor outside.

Interesting.

Janos walked back inside, found Jayne still standing there, frowning away, while those who hadn't been solely concentrating on their own practise gaped in awe. "Jayne?"

"I'm downright luckless at this," Jayne sighed on opening his eyes and seeing that he hadn't moved.

"Luckless at teleporting yourself, perhaps," Janos replied before taking off his sash and pressing it into Jayne's hands. "Try again."

Jayne glared before doing so, and sure enough, the sash disappeared. Its sudden absence seemed to disturb him given he opened his eyes and looked at his hands as though they'd suddenly forgotten something was meant to be in them. "What -"

"I think you may have accidentally uncovered a new form of teleportation," Janos replied to the unanswered question, smiling, before gesturing for the other students to circle Jayne. "Take my hand and focus on the corridor again."

There was a chorus of applause from inside the room as Janos found himself outside it again, and he grinned to himself for a moment before picking his sash up from where it had been dropped by the second use of this strange technique and re-entering. Luckless at teleporting himself, but in that lucklessness he'd found something they had longed to discover for _years_.

"Would you object if we studied you rather than basic techniques for this session, Jayne? It isn't often a new ability is discovered entirely by accident."

Jayne had no objections. He hadn't been the centre of attention for all the right reasons in quite some time.


	2. Chapter 2

_Blood_

_No Hylden_

_Vampires on the fields_

_Faces he knew_

_Blood_

.

Nightmares again, Janos mused as he woke up, looking out at the still dark sky with sore eyes. Two nights of scarcely any sleep and he was exhausted to the core, aching with fatigue.

The Citadel was too quiet late like this; so many of his kind were nearly regimented in their sleeping patterns. The lack of a tavern seemed to effect the atmosphere of night, as he knew he'd headed down into Uschtenheim in the darkest hours of the evening and found humans who seemed anything but exhausted, stumbling from the nearest tavern's doors to the next, laughing amongst each other and oblivious to the cold. during the daylight he seemed to be a source of curiosity for them - so few vampires were "insane enough to live in the North voluntarily" - but when they ran into him in the night they were always in a sillier mood, telling him off for scaring them if he stepped out of shadows he hadn't noticed himself in or dropped out of the sky before they had seen him flying above them.

God, he missed Uschtenheim _so much_. It wasn't that he was overly fond of his own company; simply that, when surrounded by others, he felt obliged to constantly make certain they knew where he was. The constant "Where have you been?" if he neglected to inform someone before heading on a trip, however short, bothered him. Besides, he simply felt as if he had no time to think to himself; always seemed torn between training and teaching, research and practise.

It was obvious that he needed to go elsewhere to relax, but he could not afford to travel far from the Citadel; the human village nearby ought to do, same as Uschtenheim had whenever he tired of the aerie. Ignoring the faint tingle of the ward against Hylden attacks over his balcony, Janos set off for the village with the intention of finding somewhere to rest.

.

It was strange to realise that, given he'd passed the area several times before but always in the daylight, he'd never noticed the blacksmith sandwiched between the hill and forest to the side of the village. It seemed almost idyllic, red light of the forge inside glowing over the bluish green of the hill, and he couldn't resist the urge to land. He'd watched the village grow over the years, miners and metal-workers supplying both themselves and the Citadel with weapons and armour forged from the natural resources to be found through the shallowest of quarries; took some joy in knowing that the human race was prospering even as his and the Hylden struggled.

Strange that someone should leave the forge's fire burning overnight unless the owner found sleeping as difficult as he currently was. Then again, it wasn't the sleeping that was the problem, was it? It was the nightmares.

But there was something... soothing about the atmosphere here, something he couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was the cool and being so close to humans, maybe something else; but still. It felt far more familiar to him than the Citadel.

Janos stretched out and closed his eyes, knew falling asleep was unwise given how exposed he was, but the Hylden rarely showed a presence near to the Citadel and it had been too long since he last truly slept.

Cooled by the night air and the grass 'til it felt as close to home as anywhere south of Uschtenheim might, sleep found him with ease for the first time since his seeing the killing fields, and nothing short of a physical shaking would have pulled him back out of it.

.

Waking with an imprint of grass on his cheek and rumpled robes was embarrassing, the blacksmith's forge still burning on a lower heat as he looked over towards it. Dawn hadn't quite come but he could smell it on the air, feel its dew soaking him to the skin.

It didn't matter. His bones felt comfortably heavy from finally getting the deep sleep they had needed, and he was actually looking forward to what the day had to bring for once.

.

As days went, this one seemed determined to have a surreal edge as if it were attempting to make up for the dreams he could not remember from the night preceding it. Bare moments after returning to his room to change into robes that weren't quite so grass-stained, Janos nearly jumped at his door being hammered upon. "General Lemm wants to see you!"

"I'll be a m -"

"Sorry Sir, but she was insistent on seeing you now," interrupted the voice from outside so Janos decided against worrying with sashes or armour for now, knowing he could - hopefully - return to attend to that task once Sianne was done with him. Sianne had been one of the two necessary vampire Generals for near a decade; her tendency to outlive her fellow Generals had made most think of her as the 'senior' General despite the positions carrying the same weight in theory and in ceremonies. Her survival was due to a lethal combination of strength, talent, and a mouth that could scorch anyone in range with expletives into submission; that, and a fierce, fierce temper.

Most people thanked God she was on their side provided they were not brought face to face with that temper, and as such Janos had no intention of keeping her waiting.

.

Janos had not entirely expected to be led to the General's actual room, though the small crowd outside certainly suggested that _something_ unusual was going on, as if that had not been obvious from her very summoning him. "Is that Audron?" Came the shout from inside, followed up before he could answer by, "Come in, then."

Set out on the table that most used for serving meals, surrounded by small mountains of paperwork, was the largest spider Janos had ever seen. It didn't seem quite dead, spindly white legs still twitching despite being curled inward, but even so, it was clearly unwell or dying.

Dear God, it was hideous.

Sianne half-laughed, a quick, barking sound, seeming amused by his expression; chances were he was showing his disgust, albeit unintentionally. "Well thank God for small blessings, I thought I'd lost you to that damned suicide mission. I can't _believe_ that bastard didn't tell me -" She seemed to cut herself off, grabbing Janos by the shoulder and pushing him towards the twitching creature on the table. "What is that?"

Janos twitched his wings while tilting his head, uncomfortable in the creature's presence but feeling as if he recognised it on some instinctive level; that there was more to it than just unnatural size for a spider. "I cannot name it."

"But?" Sianne prompted, eyes fierce.

"Well, it's clearly demonic, so there should be runes to put on clothing or amulets, maybe weapons -"

Sianne nodded to cut Janos off from further explanations before folding her arms. "You were a good three times faster than everyone else I've brought in here and I need a new General seeing as the last one got himself killed."

"I -"

"Accept? Good. The Hylden are encroaching on Termogent forest and I'm too busy leading another damned fool mission to reclaim Stahlberg _again_ to teach them a lesson about invading our stable territory regardless of how much I'd like to rip the wings off whichever of the bastards thought it would be a smart idea."

Janos did his best not to flinch at each obscenity given he knew full well her tendencies with bad language and the fact she had a tendency to only worsen around those who openly disapproved. "Is there anyone around with a good knowledge of the territory?"

"You're looking at her," Sianne replied with a smirk. "Good, fast question though, General Audron. You can pick my brains until dawn if needs be, but tomorrow morning I'm off to throw some numbers at Stahlberg and hope for the best. Shall we start? When I get back we can go through all the completely irrelevant duties of being a General in this army."

Well. He could not say he had anything against the concept of becoming a General, but he would have liked to give it a little thought. Still, Sianne was not a force to be argued with, and she seemed confident that others would respect him enough once he'd stopped burying his head in books all the time.

Damn it, he'd liked burying his head in books.

.

Avernus and Willendorf were long lost, but the Termogent forest was too close to sacred territory for its loss to be affordable so Janos was unsurprised by the orders when they came. In a way it was advantageous that the Hylden had attempted to make an advance on such familiar territory; losing Willendorf had been unfortunate but understandable given the area's remoteness from the Citadel. Termogent was dense with vegetation that, provided one knew the area, was ideal for using as disguise.

Given that he'd lived reasonably close to the area, Janos did have some familiarity with certain aspects of the forest; largely what it was like to fly over, given he'd had no interest in landing in the marshy waters. Thermal pockets were rich, but they were _moist_, sticky and clammy, and if one's wings were not well-oiled then they could get weighed down easily by dirty air. That alone was alarming.

Sianne's family had come from the area but she was unable to come with them due to being asked to head the attack on Stahlberg for reasons he wasn't privy to despite his position; still, she was willing to pass on her knowledge of the area and through it, help formulate a plan of attack and help him to come up with strategies for the best and worst case scenarios.

Worst, of course, largely involved underestimating how many Hylden had entered the area or having the Hylden be fully aware of the time the vampire counterattack would come. If that were the case then it might be wisest to make a swift retreat, especially given Hylden wings were far better suited to the swamp environment than vampire wings; still, there were advantages to their own build when it came to what would, most likely, be a strength oriented battle.

.

Strange to be flying across the mountains in next to nothing, but despite it being an unusual route it was simply the only way to ensure they were not seen by the enemy before reaching the forest. The Hylden had to know a counterattack was coming at some point, but as long as they did not know precisely when, any preparations they made could only count for little. Some of the soldiers who were used to warmer Southern Nosgoth were particularly suffering in the cold, though those from the North or mountainous regions like he were almost comfortable. Uschtenheim winters could be far, far more bitter than this, even in full robes and a cloak. They would thaw soon enough on landing in Termogent; that sticky, thick warmth clung to the skin like a physical entity. He despised so much heat, personally - cold could be guarded against with clothing, but warmth lingered even after shedding all of one's clothes. Thank God, at least, that leather armour had been chosen over the usual plate armour for this particular battle as per Sianne's guidance.

.

It was interesting to watch who took to the trees and who didn't as they moved through, careful to keep as quiet and generally inconspicuous as possible. Some struggled to grapple with vines and branches, some were discomforted by the swamp wildlife; still, they were good men and women, none of them giving up in the face of mild adversity. A good job too, given the battle was likely to be a messy one.

On hearing movement that he hadn't authorised Janos rapidly made gestures for silence, admiring the sudden stillness it induced - but then, those chosen to head the attack were mostly veterans and familiar with how obeying orders generally meant living longer. A pity Gemma was no longer with them, it would have been good to have someone who was a friend as well as a familiar face, but he had swift learnt she was one of those lost on the previous General's mission.

Janos held still, sweat trickling down his back as he looked through the lush, thick dark green veil blocking him and his men from the view of the Hylden passing underneath. Flight was impossible unless one rose to dizzying, oxygen-starved heights around here in the densest part of the forest; one could only pass over or beneath the canopy, not through.

They had waited and waited, but any new moment could cost them the element of surprise. It wasn't a risk for him to take, given two of the spider demons commanded by the Hylden had already been caught and silenced on the journey; sent ahead as scouts, presumably, though there was no magic linking them to their masters that could communicate a message and all had been caught swiftly enough to be incapable of screeching for assistance.

Long enough. Standing tall, Janos made the gesture for his men to prepare the initial magic assault - only wind and ice missiles this time, stagnant water producing too many gasses to risk fire - took a deep breath of the humid air that would have been vile in scent anywhere save the highest parts of the trees, and finally bellowed, "Now!"

The land around the Hylden was torn apart, trees collapsing and blocking the route they had planned on taking, a few of the Hylden caught in the blasts or under the fallen trees.

Hopping down lightly Janos raised his pike and charged the first Hylden in sight, trusting the men stationed across from him to warn of any unexpected attack from behind; the first kill had to be made, then caution could return, every initial second invaluable. It was almost easy, practise making the stabbing motion simple while surprise meant the adversary in question froze and reached for his sword rather than shield. So many fell to the same, the instinct to survive by killing rather than defending too strong to be overcome by sense, though once the Hylden they had been able to flank without making their presence known fell, shields and swords were out and it was knowledge of the territory that came into its own.

Mud slowed feet too used to flight, the Hylden's hooves superior in this respect to vampire feet for picking across the wet land without getting stuck, but Hylden had always been more reliant on flight in battle than vampires, their movements ungainly on land. Moreover, they were equipped for a normal battle where Janos had advised his men to take as little as possible, leather armour worn in place of plate, lighter pikes used rather than heavy despite the fact it meant less damage was guaranteed by a single blow.

It was dirty for more than the mud; battles in the air left blood and corpses falling out of the sky whereas the gore of this was something to be moved through, and it meant killing blows were necessary - ruining an opponents wings left them in agony but alive, no fall to kill them; even a collapsed enemy could still wield a sword. And dirt meant the battle was slow; advancing through the mud and over fallen corpses of friend and foe, the lack of anywhere to truly run or fly to meaning they were packed dense.

It was a mess but it was a predicted mess and as those at the front tired they obeyed their instructions to fall back and let those behind them take over, rest as best as they could in the circumstances and check the bodies left behind, see who could be helped, who needed sending to the wheel.

Leading the assault meant disobeying his own rules about taking fatigue as a sign to let others forward, trusting his sweat to wash away the flecks of blood and dirt splattering across his skin, thankful he'd worn a shirt beneath the leather to help take away some of the heat trapped between his skin and the vest. His muscles ached but the forest was _theirs_, it was their environment even if he preferred cold to a near infinite degree, and he would not lose it to the enemy. The Hylden had plenty of alternate territories to press on into for the war, but an assault heading into holy ground?

Dimly he caught sight of the Hylden's leader towards the back, was strangely relieved to note it was not their General. Unsurprising, really - though Ezekiel's prowess in battle was alarming, he had a habit of avoiding any conflict outside of territory familiar to the Hylden. Besides, he seemed to hold greater political importance than Generals in the vampire army; where his and Sianne's opinions were valued by the elders, Ezekiel was treated _as_ an elder by his kind.

Still, the leader's features and crest seemed similar to Ezekiel's so it was likely the two were at the very least related; perhaps his failure to conquer the forest would send a message to their adversaries that this holy war would not be fought on holy soil.

Finally, after a sword grazed his shoulder - not enough to wound, but enough to send a message that he had been careless - Janos slipped a little behind and let the others press on ahead. Another few minutes and they would be near sweeping; the Hylden at the back seemed to be realising the fate of those in front and slipping away, the leader hesitating after his last blast of ice into the midst of Janos' men before looking behind at those fleeing. The first to flee had been cursed; now it seemed he would be doing the same, and while Janos rarely used magic when in the midst of his men in case his aim was knocked out of place by a hylden and he did more damage than good, he saw no reason not to encourage his enemy's disappearance with a hurricane blast while surrounded only by the dead and tired.

Knocked off the beast he had been riding to stand over his men, the Hylden leader finally realised the inevitability of loss and turned, summoning a last wave of white spiders before fleeing. Any pretence of rank and file fell apart then, the Hylden who could following their leader while the last were caught between vampire pikes and demonic hunger; some demons were more controllable than others but spider demons, from what Janos had seen, were only interested in feeding and on whoever was first in their path at that.

One man could only summon so many though, and spiders had none of the heavy external armour that the towering demons did, their flesh - if it could be called flesh - tough and brittle, falling apart under a hard enough hit.

His men began their post-battle cheering before the last demons were slain, and despite the prematurity of it, Janos found himself pleased by the success. He would have to station scouts to make sure if the Hylden visited again there would be early warnings of it, but for now he could take comfort in their losses having been few and the relatively new battle technique having proven itself useful.

.

It was amusing how much of the post-battle discussions amongst his men seemed devoted to the mud, and the unpleasant experience of trudging through it, but aside from those carrying wounded who could not be restored by basic first aid and simple spells, most were able to return to travelling through the trees; still not as natural as flight, but decidedly more comfortable than the muscle-wearying motions of picking across the dirt. He would likely follow the path of those in the mud after overseeing those who would not survive the journey home being given last rites and final peace by those who had made their home in the army despite an inclination towards the priestly. He recalled being told that initially, the training of warrior-priests had been frowned upon; thought of as vulgar, that while being returned to the Wheel was the greatest gift someone could wish for, to train a class that both blessed life and took it away was tasteless. Deep enough into the war and the decision proved itself wise, given how many could not make it home to be blessed, and how without a priest to travel alongside them the men were often left lacklustre, forgetful of what had made them come to fight.

Though he had turned down the opportunity to train as a warrior-priest despite apparently being ideally suited to the role, given his love of history and research, Janos did sometimes wonder what it was like to actively possess such spiritual authority, marvelled at the relaxed expressions of those who were helped into passing on rather than left to suffer through their final moments in the damp of the swamp.

.

Sianne seemed almost pleased by his return, which was a compliment in and of itself, though she was more preoccupied with taking him aside to run quickly through more of the protocol that came with being a General than with finding out the details of the victory.

Most of what she had to say he'd expected to some degree or another from observing rituals and ceremonies as he moved up through the ranks, but even so she had several words on what happened behind the scenes to share with him. This, too, he had expected - but they were details that despite expecting, he had not known in their entirety, and hearing about them was something of a relief. He'd been sent into situations with no information before but while he had a certain ability to improvise, it certainly wasn't a talent he had any interest in developing further.

"Whether you want to be or not, now you are as much a spiritual leader as a military one. Ironically, I should be thanking God that you can take the spiritual duties on with more enthusiasm than I ever could. When the next ceremony comes along I'll run you through the words; trust me when I say it is far easier to memorise the speeches under pressure than when you have three pages of script lying forgotten on your desk.

"Another part of your role as a military leader is that you are in charge of letting those below you know their place. I might have a reputation as gruff and unpleasant but even if that weren't my nature I would need to pretend; it keeps others from trying to take a role they have not earned and it stops this army descending into chaos at any given point. If someone has a good idea, thank them for it once and put it into practise. If they have a bad idea, turn it down and as politely as your patience allows, tell them not to waste your time with such nonsense ever again.

"That's all I can think of for the moment; I'm sure some ceremony or another will turn up soon enough proving me forgetful but for the time being, it will do. Any questions?"

"None I can think of," Janos replied honestly, wondering where Sianne kept all that air for long speeches given her chest wasn't particularly large.

Dear God, he was never, ever going to think of Sianne's chest again if he could help it.

"I knew there was a reason I picked you out. Not enough men with common sense around," She announced before leaving the room without any announcement, and it was only after five or so minutes of waiting he realised that she had no intention of returning.

He had never bought into the concept of nicknames that weren't contractions of a person's name, but found himself sympathising a little more with those who referred to Sianne as 'the whirlwind'.

.

As much as he had every intention of slipping under his sheets and falling asleep as swiftly as possible, on entering his bedroom Janos found himself restless. Not out of anxiety; there was no sense of forthcoming nightmares, no unsettled feeling running through his nerves - just a need to be outside.

Most of the world seemed similarly filled with motion, as if the full moon had some strange effect on all Nosgoth's sentient beings, and Janos opted to head down towards the human village to see if he could shake off the mildly trapped sensation he had felt while alone in his room. Admittedly he could have visited any friend in the Citadel, but if they were similarly discomforted there simply was no way that he would be able to sit with them comfortably; one set of restless wings was enough to fill any room, never mind two sets. Or more, in the case of Shia and Samael.

Landing lightly on top of the hill he normally favoured, it was satisfying to see that the human village was as active as the Citadel, people walking from place to place and the air loud with music and laughter. On some level he almost longed for that sort of life - for the simplicity humans seemed to have, their worries focused on work, on family, and little else. They concerned themselves little with the war, given that neither side had showed particular hostility or hospitality towards them, and had taken a mostly neutral view of the situation.

As a General, neutrality was almost wholly absent as an option for him now; but before such thoughts could take advantage of his restless nature and leave him distressed he waved them aside, closing his eyes for a moment before looking over at the blacksmith's, which seemed lit as ever, and...

Well, that was peculiar.

Janos blinked at the window as if he expected the sign to disappear or otherwise prove to be a simple trick of his imagination, or perhaps to find he had misread the script, but no, it was staying and his first reading had been accurate enough.

_For god's sake, vampire, knock. I don't bite._

Feeling uncertain, even though he couldn't think of any _other_ vampire the sign might be referring to, Janos walked down the hill and up the few steps to the forge's door, hesitated, then knocked.

The face that regarded him on opening the door was amused, thin-lipped, and streaked black with soot and sweat. "You pick your moments," growled the man who was, apparently, the blacksmith, opening the door wider and letting Janos in before taking a rag blacker than even he was before wiping his face and revealing the skin underneath to be a mixture of tan and red, the soot's irritating effect clearly visible. "Damned chimney backed up, I've barely started cleaning the mess. I'd say sit down but -"

Janos found himself laughing despite his own confusion, took a seat anyway on what looked to be, under the half-inch or so of black dust, a bench. Soot rinsed off easily enough and it made a pleasanter contrast than the rust-shaded stains from battle. "What made you extend the invitation?"

"Hm?" The sound was muffled by the rag, used seemingly as protection against the dust as he brushed the floor, the task seeming futile at first until enough repetition of the movements started to reveal something that actually resembled wood. "Gnn-" He lowered the rag for a moment, wiping it across his face again, facial hair trapping so much dust Janos wondered if the human would be forced to shave because washing cleanliness into those thick hairs seemed impossible. "Good job whoever put in the floor was useless. So much dust falls down the gaps in the woodwork I think this place must be as supported by dirt as by stone."

Janos laughed despite himself, not knowing what to make of his... well, host, and figuring it was best for him to wait out the room's cleaning before concerning himself with repeating his initial question. What had at first seemed to be a trick of lighting and dust seemed to be a tattoo - more than one tattoo, he realised soon enough as the human turned to continue sweeping. The whole place would need sweeping again within the hour given how much dust had been lifted into the air, as the fact he'd had to cover his mouth with the sash of his robes testified.

"That'll do," The human mused, before lifting a stool from by the forge and taking it outside, banging it against the wall to shake the dust off it before bringing it back inside and sitting on it. "I'll be able to see what I'm doing better in the morning, anyway. I'll never understand why there aren't as many vampire blacksmiths as humans; soot barely shows on you, clothes aside."

"I can't speak for the others, but I can't abide the heat," Janos replied after dropping the sash back into place before holding out his hand. "Janos Audron."

"Vorador," Replied the human, looking at Janos' hand with a puzzled expression before holding it slightly awkwardly and shaking it. "Not used to clawed hands. Where are you from? I know the Citadel gets visitors from all around, but your accent..."

Janos smiled; it had been a long time since he'd undergone any questioning about his lacking the local accent. "Uschtenheim."

Vorador looked almost taken aback. "Good god, you _don't_ like heat. Isn't it always frozen there? Or close enough, anyway?"

"I like the cold," Janos explained, wondering why he felt like justifying himself. "I grew up in the area. All this warmth is - is alien, to me." And seeing as Vorador was settled into conversation now, he could repeat himself; "What made you invite me inside?"

"Funnily enough I was starting to wonder why a vampire kept coming to rest and occasionally fall asleep out in the open next to where I work. Strange, isn't it, how that would pique my curiosity?"

Janos flushed despite himself, realised how peculiar he must have looked. "In my defence, you chose a scenic location."

Vorador seemed amused, though honestly, between the facial hair and dirt it was hard to identify any emotions and Janos was mostly guessing based on flashes of teeth and anything shown in the human's eyes. "I didn't realise vampires could get embarrassed."

"I assure you, we run the full gauntlet of emotions."

"All that restrained elegance gives off a certain impression." Vorador folded his arms. "Any reason why you always come alone? Unless, of course, I've missed something."

Janos wondered if there was any decent excuse, but after a moment's thought figured the truth was as worth telling as any other reason. "If I'm struggling to sleep, I find that sitting up there helps me to relax."

"Where did you go beforehand? When struggling?"

"I didn't start struggling until recently," Janos explained, clasping his hands and resting them between his legs. "The war has never been pleasant but lately certain aspects have taken a turn for the worse."

"Well, you're always welcome to vent your frustrations here," Vorador said with a shrug before yawning. "I'm used to people turning up with a request for a sword and turning the request into a rambling account of why they want one. Least I can hope for is someone with a story that's actually worth telling."

"Thank you," Janos replied, a little puzzled by the human's forthrightness. "I should not be complaining, in all honesty. I've already had words with God about the issue in question."

"Ah, God," Vorador replied with a touch of disdain before getting up and stretching, reaching above the forge after folding the rag in his hands several times and pulling down a blackened pot that was spitting liquid in protest from under its lid, setting it down on the floor and lifting the lid before tossing it and the rag aside with a clatter. "I'm not one for religion."

"In all fairness, human gods don't speak to them," Janos replied in a tone he hope came across as explanatory of his faith rather than disapproving of others. Whatever was in that pot smelt... _intriguing_. He'd never sampled human cooking, assumed it to be much the same as theirs, but the smell of this was unfamiliar. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

"I can't say I expected a dinner guest," Vorador said, laughing and shrugging his shoulders. "But then, I doubt there are many humans who prefer to eat at the same hours I do." Vorador stood up taking care not to upset the pot before walking across the room and opening a cupboard, making a quiet satisfied noise as he pulled out two bowls and spoons. "Thank god whoever designed that cupboard had their head a damn sight better in place than the person who put in the floor."

Janos watched as Vorador served the... well, it seemed part-way between a soup and a stew, somewhat difficult to place, taking his bowl and spoon with a thank you and blowing on the surface before trying his first mouthful with a little trepidation.

Oh.

Oh, good God.

"Too hot?" Vorador prompted.

Janos laughed and smiled wide, shaking his head. "This is the most delicious thing I've eaten outside Uschtenheim. What on earth is it?"

Vorador smiled back, seeming proud of the reaction to what was assumably his cooking. "I can't give you a name, I only know the recipe. Takes hours to cook properly but as you can see," he said, pointing to the curved metal shelf going around the top of the forge, "If it's prepared in the morning, it's done while I work."

Janos did his best to repress the urge to shovel down the... oh, for ease's sake it was best to think of it as a stew. He was a decent cook but the tools for better recipes were difficult to locate in the Citadel; he kept swearing to himself that if he had the chance to visit Uschtenheim again he would dry some of the local herbs to bring back, but... "In all honesty, I think this could be one of the best meals I've ever had. Thank you for this, I don't deserve such hospitality."

"You've satisfied my curiosity about what on earth those hill visitations were for. I can think straight again," Vorador replied, eyes softening slightly at the edges. "That alone deserves hospitality. That and you didn't spend the time I left you sat on the bench whining for attention."

"I don't think I deserve praise for something I _didn't_ do, " Janos pointed out, amused, returning to his food. He'd eaten before - certainly remembered eating, anyway - but the very presence of something this delicious had him feeling ravenous to the point of it being almost embarrassing.

"I can give praise for whatever I damn well like in my home." Vorador looked over at Janos' bowl and the rapidly dropping food levels in it. "Good job I never got the hang of portions. How would a second helping sound to you?"

"I really shouldn't," Janos replied, laughing despite himself and all too aware that if he didn't slow down he was going to get indigestion.

"Are you certain?" Vorador asked, waving a serving spoon of the stew with a smirk that spoke volumes.

Well, he'd been through enough recently and it wasn't as if he frequently indulged in gluttony or excess. "Just this once, then. Please."

"Thought you might agree."

.

Given the late hour of his return, Janos expected that dropping by to see Kylian would simply be a matter of glancing in on the sleeping young man to make certain his health was steadying, but it seemed that his nurse at least was still awake.

"I was not expected any visitors, least of all you, General Audron," announced the girl on duty with a nod of deference. "What brought you here?"

"I wanted to check on Kylian's health in general terms, but given I have your expertise at hand, may I ask how he is doing?"

The nurse scratched the back of her head. "I wish I could tell you what is wrong with Kylian but we're not certain. He has more lucid moments now and can look after himself, but still, some days he just... drifts. He claims not to remember his time in the ruins, but on his drifting days he sits at his desk and draws images he could not have seen anywhere else." She handed Janos a wad of papers, the writing on them in Kylian's hand but the wording and spelling frequently archaic. The drawings were particularly intriguing, stylised after ancient murals but annotated in his modern handwriting. "He's been especially restless tonight but that isn't unusual for a full moon. It brings out the worst in most people, sane or otherwise."

"If he is awake, might I talk to him?"

"He tends to be quiet even when he isn't drifting, but feel free. You did save his life."

"Shia saved his life," Janos insisted, but entered the room before the nurse could respond, found Kylian studying a wine glass on his bedside table with the glazed fascination of one who thought he would never see something like that again. "Good evening, Kylian."

"Leave the sword unbound," Kylian said vaguely, distantly, as if talking without any awareness of what he said.

"Why?"

"Janos." Kylian stood up and walked over to him, cupping Janos' face in his hands, expression pained. "I'm so sorry. The Reaver is the key. It will bind itself. The Pillars are the lock, the Reaver is the key." Despite the room's warmth Janos found himself shivering, did not know what to make of the chaste but lingering kiss Kylian gave him before pulling away and repeating again, "The Pillars are the lock, the Reaver is the key," returning to his desk and muttering the same phrase over and over before taking his pen and dipping it into the ink well, scrawling out the phrase across a sheet of paper. "Redeemer and destroyer," Kylian muttered, seemingly as an afterthought, adding that to a corner of the page before smiling and stabbing the pen deep into his wrist.

"Nurse!" Janos yelled, pulling out his hair tie and using it as a tourniquet to slow the blood flow while she fetched bandages, slapping away Kylian's hand when it went to remove the pen.

"Get that out of me!" Kylian yelled, eyes frightened more than anything else but noticeably more perceptive, the expression a reminder of the puzzling situation with regards to his behaviour of late. "Get it out!"

"We have to make sure you won't bleed yourself ill first," Janos scolded, letting the nurse take over the task of keeping the tourniquet tight as she pulled the pen out of place, both Kylian and the nurse glancing at him with puzzled frustration that he took as his cue to leave, regardless of his former student's safety.


	3. Chapter 3

Janos was not sure if it was just him going mad or the world, but each week seemed to be averaging more and more peculiar days as time went by lately. Whatever balance the land had ever possessed seemed thrown, and he was less than certain that the additional strangeness had anything to do with the phases of the moon. Kylian's papers had shown far more than the ramblings of an insane man; the initial drawings were clearly designed after murals in the site he'd accidentally imprisoned himself in, but in amongst the murals were diagrams and designs that provoked a nervous excitement Janos could not repress, especially given the current climate of the war.

With Sianne's guidance, her awareness of the situation with regards to where the Hylden had made their presence known, it was not so difficult to tighten up the hold they had on the East of Nosgoth, particularly towards the South. After their disaster in the Termogent Forest, the Hylden had apparently lost interest in pressing their luck Northeast, but a few skirmishes between the mountains framing Freeport still took up time and effort.

Janos could not help feeling unsettled by how the Hylden seemed almost uninterested in pressing for more territory; despite vampires holding Provance where the Hylden held Meridian - and held it well, at that - their land there was not constantly under siege as might have been expected. The Hylden seemed to have lost interest in expanding, seemed more interested in holding what they already had, and that unsettled him; they had often been known for their opportunist streak, pressing into any land that had not seen military action for several weeks, but they seemed to be holding _back_ now.

He knew doing so risked angering the elders - risked angering more than them, at that - but Kylian's papers begged at least experimentation, and after some thought Janos found himself taking the pages that seemed to detail every angle from which the object they described could be viewed and bringing them to the attention of his human friend.

At the very least a model might be crafted that could serve as multi-dimensional imagery of an object that had been worshipped in centuries past; he didn't let himself picture what the very most he could expect from it might be, told himself he was doing this more out of curiosity than anything else despite the twists that kept forming in his gut.

.

"I have something that might interest you." Janos laid the papers out before Vorador, watched his friend's interest levels rapidly increase.

"What is this?"

"The design for a sword," Janos replied, trying to repress his near anxious excitement at the prospect of seeing the design set out in metal. "One of my researcher's came up with it."

"It would be a nightmare to make," Vorador mused, his tone curious. "But if the edges were ground down finely enough, it could be deadly."

"I'm no expert," Janos laughed, trying to avoid any awkward conversation in which the intricate details of metalwork were laid out before him while he was left clueless as to what any of it meant, finally asked, "What exactly would it take for you to create this?"

"Time, more than anything else," Vorador replied, still eyeing the papers with a look that seemed near analytical, as if he were already picturing the crafting of each part. "I haven't indulged my artistic streak in some time, but the handle ought to be reasonable. The curves in the blade are more of an issue... would you seriously consider commissioning this piece?"

"I can meet the costs easily. Would you seriously consider crafting it?"

Vorador turned the papers over again, admiring the different angles from which Kylian had drawn the sword, before announcing, "As long as you have no issues in waiting a couple of... hm. Weeks, I should think."

Janos nodded in acceptance before opening the sack he'd brought with him; after passing through Freeport for the most recent battles it would have been foolish not to acquire supplies both for himself and those around him. Shia had spices and silks, Samael cheeses despite the fact he never admitted to his weakness for the curious substance so favoured by humans, wines and spirits for his protégés; for Vorador it was salt, beer, and several bars of strange metals brought from overseas. Sianne he had given a set of knives, was unsurprised when she acknowledged them with a vague grunt despite the fact he had not seen her without them at her waist since.

"Interesting. What do I owe you for these?" Vorador asked while holding up each of the bars in turn, seeming fascinated by the different weights and the way each looked slightly different in the light; two seemed to nearly glow, one with a faint greenish hue, another with faint blue.

"Nothing. Consider it partial payment for the sword and the stew; that and for listening to me complain."

"You'll be bringing several more sacks of these then?" Vorador laughed, before whistling at the bar of metal that had secretly been Janos' favourite; he could never have named it, but it seemed to carry its platinum-like white metal gleam no matter what light one placed it in. "You do realise you owe me nothing for the conversation, although if I could get away with charging for it I might finally silence those who tell me their life stories before their orders."

.

Progress was slow given Vorador was more interested in the sword as an oddity and pet project than as a weapon, but it was interesting to see little signs of progress as the weeks passed; interesting to watch slivers of metal move from carrying one curve to carry two, starting to more closely resemble the waves that made the object of his people's worship so unusual; and so damned impossible to craft whenever they had tried in the past, though they had been working off murals and not Kylian's images. Even his mentor Aluniel, for all her talent in magic and her hobby of metalwork, had been unable to quite balance the practicality and beauty so often described in legends of the sword when she attempted to create the blade. She'd spent most of her last days focused on attempts, something to do when a crippled wing left her useless in battle, but had never succeeded.

Kylian seemed to have forgotten whatever trauma left him wavering between life and a dreamlike state for so long; did not recognise his own work when presented with any of it, but perhaps that was for the best. In the dreamlike state he'd been almost constantly on the verge of distress; now that he appeared to be over the trauma, the worst he ever exhibited anymore was a strong sense of confusion as to what exactly had happened to him while he was in the site Janos had recovered him from. He had no memory of his rescue - no memory of his ever being in need of rescue - but after enough time passed he seemed to take his lack of memory as a sign that maybe he was better off not knowing.

Vorador was generous with the 'scraps' of his trade, letting Janos pocket some of the shapes he'd crafted out of metal that were no longer of any use to him; some of the alloys he had created using the exotic metals Janos had handed over were reworkable, but some would set hard as gemstones or turn brittle and weak. Even so, Vorador's skill was evident in even the poorest quality slivers; the craftsmanship evident in the experimental pieces was fascinating, especially to an untrained but curious eye.

The top of Janos' dresser was starting to look like a collection of strange, handle-less blades; some bizarre array of exotic knives and throwing weapons. In truth most of the slivers were probably more dangerous to the wielder's hands than anyone they were thrown towards, but it was entertaining to imagine someone thinking he was skilled in some unusual branch of weapons should they ever see his dresser.

.

Sadly in some ways, being a General meant that anyone save his closest friends obeyed the protocol saying that they were not permitted into his room without his consent regardless of their need to see him. It would be nice to be woken by someone shaking him instead of hammering on his door for attention, but certain privileges seemed owed only to those of lesser rank; strange, but understandable.

Janos could have let months pass quite happily without being woken violently from his sleep by his door being near battered down by furious hands and someone screaming about the Hylden, of treachery in the extreme. Startled into consciousness as the world redefined chaos, Janos found himself fighting for a sense of calm as he took his pike and shield from their resting place to see the damage. Awareness of where the soldiers were taking him turned his stomach, but retaining sense and reason forced him to still it as he was led to the temple. "Inside. No one knows how they -" The soldier cut himself off, frightened and disgusted, and Janos walked in past the wards that should have torn the flesh from any Hylden that tried to enter, looked at the scene that had caused so much panic.

The priests on duty had been murdered, though some small part of Janos was relieved to see that the high priest had not been amongst those killed or panic might have escalated into carnage. Blood and water mingled on the floor and in the sacred pool itself, bodies disfigured by bruises and bones that had pierced the skin's surface had been lined up neatly by those who first came in and discovered the carnage. Janos knelt and touched his hand to the youngest one's chest, felt the dip where none should be from a crushed ribcage. This was no act of stealth, it was one of sheer brutality. "Have replacement priests been summoned?"

"No sir, we -" Janos waved the rest of the comment aside and stood up.

"First send for new priests. We may cleanse this place physically but the taint will remain until they arrive. Who was on guard?"

The eldest of the soldiers who had come with him sent one outside to deliver Janos' message to the seminary. "No one, sir, the wards ought to have been enough."

"Clearly they failed," Janos said, too weary to snap but frustrated nonetheless at the poor security. "A guard of six men at every shrine, and two for each of the elders. No vampire may leave the Citadel without a General's permission until further notice and none should travel alone when they do until the situation has been assessed. What of the Hylden?"

"General Lemm is conducting a sweep of the Citadel. Shia," Janos noticed the contempt with which the soldier spoke of her, made a mental note to question it later, "Insists that she knows nothing of the murderer save that it was no Hylden. Damned convenient for a witch of their race to fail at foreseeing a massacre but be so clear on that."

Janos grabbed the elder soldier by the arm and brought him outside the shrine. "_Never_ speak of damnation on holy ground. It is not your place." He said nothing of Shia herself, knew a repetition of her neutrality would only cause problems until the Citadel was secure and the situation calmed. "See to the guards and arrange for the bodies to be stored until the new priests can see to their cleansing."

"And you, sir?"

Janos bent to tighten his greaves. "As a General should. I'm going where the panic is."

.

The Citadel was not a place for family life, or rather, should not have been; Janos had never entirely agreed with how many soldiers had moved their loved ones in with them. Bringing them to such a place meant that while they could be seen, they were in more danger - the furthest Eastern provinces were far less likely to come under attack, given they served little strategic value. And while Shianna might live with her parents in the Citadel, her circumstances were different - given her mixed race she was in more danger living alone, and were she living elsewhere she would never see either of her parents; Shia was damn near always on call, Samael faring little better given that his abilities prevented death from being an easy way for potential Hylden informants to avoid telling what they knew.

Again thanking God that the high priest had not been slain, Janos quickly summoned the man from his quarters to lend backbone to the fact that while the attack had been blasphemous, it could not render them cursed. It seemed fairly evident that God would only be more displeased with the Hylden for their transgression, their warping the rules of nature to allow such an attack; and while the masses had been quick to panic, they seemed to realised with similar swiftness that their panic in this case was not justified. The high priest might occasionally seem frail, the passing years having given him slightly bowed legs and lines on his face that could tell a story, but the man's voice lent him authority beyond that of near any other vampire. As a General Janos had developed the ability to throw his voice, force it into being louder and more resonant than might normally seem possible, but there was only so much one could do with what they had been born with. Sianne's voice carried natural depth and strength without using tricks learnt for the battlefield, but no matter what he did there was a certain underlying softness in tone he couldn't entirely shake, and was not entirely sure he wished to; had his accent not already done so it would have rendered his voice distinctive.

When Sianne returned it quickly became clear that no Hylden prisoners had been taken; either they had been damned quick with an attack, or they had never been present in the first place. Sweeps were still being carried out of lower levels, but it was evident enough that given the details of previous Hylden raids compared with this one, it was unlikely that anyone would be found at this point.

Leaving the high priest in charge of the situation with calming the Citadel's inhabitants, Janos stepped aside with Sianne, returning to the scene of the carnage. It would be some time before new priests arrived, but the high priest could conduct a basic cleansing ceremony until he had assistance with removing the deeper taint.

With no Hylden around, it seemed clear to Janos that perhaps another avenue of attack had been taken. Traditional Hylden magic ought to have been negated by the same wards keeping Hylden from entering; merely touching the wards meant feeling the slightly uncomfortable strength of the magic guarding the temple, even though it ought to be wholly safe for any vampire. That left two possibilities he could think of; a traitor, which Janos hoped to God was unlikely - and besides, how could one have caused such damage by _themselves_? A large group of traitors seemed improbable; and surely they would had been caught or left some sort of trail.

The other possibility left him tense - more tense than the possibility of traitors, even - and after finding Sianne knew little about the wards over the temple, Janos quickly found those in charge of maintaining the wards throughout the Citadel to question them.

Hylden magic was guarded against. Hylden _entry_ was guarded against unless a meeting was scheduled. Even vampire magic was not permitted within the temple.

But one very obvious avenue had not been explored.

"And summoning magic?"

"Sir, no one could summon demons in -"

"Was there protection against summoning magic?" Janos repeated, adding before the ward-binder repeated himself, "No one we _know_ could summon demons. Who knows what long distance spells the Hylden have worked on?"

Seeming to see reason now the ward-binder shook his head, and Janos barely repressed the instinct to curse. Of course the wards against Hylden had failed; the Hylden had more on their side than just their own race now. Some brute creature from the wrong dimension could have been called in to wreak havoc and sent back whence it came from the same distance. Demons would not care for rank or ability, and they would have no respect for religion.

Damned creatures would probably target priests _deliberately_, recognising them for people who could return them to whatever horrific home they were torn from by the Hylden and taking care of them before they could raise the alarm or prepare an exorcism.

God _damn_ it, why had there not been extra guards posted?

.

For what it was worth, though specific culprits could not be found, the very insult of the priests being slaughtered seemed to spur the soldiers on in battle further. While all were willing to fight for their God, there was a certain added fury, a certain added purpose in their actions when sent out after an attack against civilians. It seemed the Hylden had yet to master summoning any demon with a capability for flight, which was no small relief, but some of those bound to the earth were able to fire projectiles that could be problematic in air battles unless one rose to levels where the air thinned and cooled, a little like a more smothering, dirtier version of Uschtenheim's usual atmosphere.

Of those capable of firing projectiles there was a particular variety of horned beast whose size and brutality seemed torn out of a child's nightmare, and made the theory of a demon summoning being responsible for the deaths in the Citadel sound more reasonable.

As much as Janos disliked anything in battle that could be construed as 'giving up', he approved less of suicidal recklessness, and had to advise his men against attacking the horned beasts. Their strength was phenomenal, and while killing those who had summoned them did not seem enough to send them back whence they came, he had yet to see one linger on or around the battlefield for long after. The actions taken by the demons were reminiscent of wild animals in certain ways, and their loyalty was meaningless; when the battle turned in favour of one side, so would the choice of target the demons aimed for. The white spiders favoured for land battles were most curious of all in that they only seemed concerned with direction - if one was in their way, one was a target. He'd seen Hylden falling prey to the spiders when someone from the back had summoned the pale demons and sent them forth.

.

As much as Janos trained and fought, there were occasional moments when the horrors still had an effect on him as visceral as one would expect of all battle. In truth, battle was normally far too chaotic to allow the experience of more than one's survival instincts kicking in; it was the aftermath that caused distress, especially if one lingered to see the battleground after the conquering and retreating armies had left.

Admittedly it had reached a point where Janos had seen enough that nausea and disgust were all but distant memories for the most part, but nonetheless, there were moments.

.

Janos had suspected the worst when the scouts sent into the forests around Meridian did not return. Meridian was known to be controlled by the Hylden but even so, the aim had been to find out why so many Hylden had been moving towards the city without attacking the vampire outposts nearby with any meaningful intent - or even scouting the area themselves.

When the scouts' bodies were found where the forest's outskirts met the mountains curling down into the deep South of Nosgoth, Janos found himself vomiting for the first time since he'd been a _very_ young soldier. He'd seen bodies shattered after freezing and falling; he'd seen them torn, seen them infected and burnt - but the spiders seemed to have made damn near _nests_ of the soldiers, wrapping them in cocoons of silk and laying eggs inside their flesh.

Normally any corpse would be treated with relative dignity but the process of setting up a pyre or otherwise ritually setting the soldiers to rest meant putting himself and his men through more trauma than he could ever think miserable. There was little else to do than deal with the bodies from a distance, summoning fireballs and blasting the area until there was little left _to_ burn.

It was agreed swiftly that a policy of silence over the exact circumstances of the scouts' deaths and the details of their burnings would be best when it came to dealing with their families, but the sight was something Janos knew would haunt his men as much as it would him and insisted despite Sianne's disapproval that they be given rest for a good few days at minimum.

The responsibility of being a General meant he could not extend the same courtesy to himself, but sleeplessness was a small sacrifice given what the soldiers beneath him were losing.


	4. Chapter 4

_Blood_

_No Hylden_

_Vampires on the fields_

_Faces he knew_

_Tearing_

_Fire_

_Burning_

_Blood_

.

The week's events had worn at him, near every day as a General leading him to a deeper understanding of Sianne's almost brutal nature and how the Hylden General always seemed so callous at meetings. That said, the Hylden General probably lacked the moral concerns that preyed on Janos' mind at near every waking moment.

Speaking of waking, lately it seemed to feel nothing like it should, almost as though he had not slept in the first place. Even a visit to Vorador felt a drain on his energy now; human casualties were treated so casually by the vampire elders, more than he had ever thought before becoming a General and learning the truth, and knowing more of the tensions that existed between his race and theirs seemed a strain he was not ready to deal with. Vorador had never questioned him about the war, seemed almost uninterested as long as he was never called to fight by either side and had someone to supply with weaponry and armour, but Janos suspected it was due to... not quite politeness, but certainly some human sense of social responsibility.

Nonetheless, regardless of how he had felt about visiting Vorador, fate had an unexpected twist in store. Irony seemed to hold a power over nature near as great as God's.

.

"I hope I can call this a pleasant surprise," Vorador announced, eyes glinting with amusement as he entered Janos' room. His position as a blacksmith must have lent him credence amongst more vampires than Janos would have expected; humans were not normally permitted within the capital as a basic precaution given their relative neutrality. It was strange; as much as he hadn't wanted to visit the human, being in his presence seemed to lift a little of the weight on his shoulders. "I brought something for you."

"For the sake of your hands I hope it wasn't a stew pot," Janos replied, amused at the guards who normally took position either side of his bedroom door staring in at him before gasping audibly as Vorador presented him with the Reaver.

That was no ordinary sword. Ordinary swords did not instil awe. A copy of an image you had seen throughout your life was a copy, as much a sculpture or image as a mural crafted in metal.

That was the Reaver.

Janos took the sword in shaking hands when Vorador handed it over, every inch of it filling him with genuine awe, the near frightened sensation he had not experienced since he was nine years old and brought into the temple the one time in his life he was ever to speak with God directly to confirm his faith.

"Everyone I passed in the Citadel -"

"What do I -" Janos interrupted before quickly finding himself mortified by the idea of discussing payment for the Reaver, as much as he knew it was due. "Could you talk to General Lemm about -" Cutting himself off again, awed and near stammering in the sword's presence, and Vorador took the lead once more.

"I had that arranged some time ago," Vorador replied to Janos' unfinished question before edging a little closer to the main cabinet so he would have something to lean against. "I feel it safe to assume your reaction is a pleased one."

"Mm," Janos confirmed, nodding, turning the sword over and over in his hands, almost unknowing what to do with it. Forging the Reaver had been attempted so often by his own kind, but a human's hands had finally mastered its image, its curve and balance, and he was almost faint with the stunned realisation of what it meant.

He would have to present it to the elders, of course, have them bless the Reaver and provide the magical attunements requested in Kylian's notes before it would be more than any regular sword in battle - but as an icon, it already served its purpose.

"Thank you for doing this," Janos said, almost unable to meet Vorador's eyes because his focus kept returning to the Reaver.

"Consider yourself welcome."

.

Arranging any private meeting normally took up to several weeks, but the whispering and rumour surrounding Vorador's bringing of the sword to the Citadel hastened the need for one and gave the meeting priority over many other matters. And while some thought it strange that a sword could cause so much fuss, especially younger vampires who had not heard all the legends surrounding the Reaver passed down through generations despite the strangeness of its connection with the Wheel, the excitement was more than a little contagious.

The elders took turns admiring the blade and discussing it amongst one another before finally speaking up; "It certainly is masterfully crafted, but what makes you believe it to be the Reaver of our lore?"

"I believe it could become the Reaver," Janos replied before gesturing to the papers he had brought with him, letting them take turns familiarising themselves with the messages Kylian had scrawled across every sheet. "The magic is beyond my understanding, and I am aware that to leave the threads unbound is unconventional -"

"Unconventional to say the least, General Audron," came the interruption before the elders seemed to have a moment's almost silent discussion, sitting back in their seats. "Shia will have to be consulted before this goes any further. I doubt that thought concerns you given your friendship with her, but I trust that you have made no attempts to bribe her into accepting your proposal."

Janos knew better than to take the comment to heart; it was their task to question matters regardless of how obvious the truth seemed. "I have not contacted her since the Reaver's creation."

"The sword's creation, General Audron," came the swift correction. "While the sword may carry an uncanny resemblance to that from our legends, it has not yet been blessed or granted the magic requested. Until the sword is used in battle it will not earn that name, and should Shia ask that the magic be bound or refused altogether it will never do so."

.

The messenger dispatched to Shia's room seemed decidedly uncomfortable on his return, giving Janos a strange look before walking up to the elders and talking to them. After some more discussion the elders gave Janos a similarly strange look before asking, "You are certain you have not discussed matters with Shia?"

"I have lacked the time and so has she," Janos replied, wondering what had drawn the question; surely they knew his schedule as a General and Shia's as a seer made meeting up a rarity despite their friendship?

"She has requested your presence before coming to a decision," came the explanation of their curiosity. "You have our permission to go to her. But a word of warning, Audron - do not attempt to sway Shia's opinion. You will be punished if caught."

Janos opted not to answer vocally, simply nodded before heading out with their permission towards Shia's room.

.

As surreal as the whole experience with the Reaver had been thus far - surreal to the point that it seemed nothing ought to strike him as odd any more - Janos was somewhat surprised as he entered Shia's room to the scent of food cooking and found two dishes set on the table despite no sign of either Shianna or Samael. "You have a hard choice ahead of you, so I thought you should have something to settle your stomach and nerves first."

"As ever, I must thank you for your hospitality. But why talk to me over the others?"

Serving the soup, Shia sat down and picked up her spoon, tapping it against the table. "Because you are a friend." Waiting for him to take his first taste of the soup, she said calmly, "History takes two paths. As a seer it is my responsibility to say yes, and create the Reaver. It is the only way the vampire race will ever win. But... Janos, I can't recommend it as a friend. I love you dearly and you will suffer beyond my understanding."

"And the other path?" Janos said, keeping his gaze steady and preparing to accept the worst.

"The other path sees the war continuing for years. Perhaps centuries. I see a great machine, a great Citadel, and Hylden rule. You would be dead decades before that came to pass and it is the closest to peace you could ever see. I'm sorry."

The soup was delicious but Janos' stomach could not take much more. Still, he made certain to swallow a few more spoonfuls for politeness' sake before giving up. "Why would God not foresee this?"

"You know my opinion of your god," Shia replied softly, dipping a piece of bread in her soup as if she were as uninterested in eating it as he was. "The path that I should recommend to your elders is bloody and violent, and in the long term much of that violence will be aimed at you."

Janos closed his eyes, thought of 'bloody and violent', and found all he could picture was a field of beheaded Hylden and himself standing behind the guillotine. "Will it end the war?"

"Yes."

"Recommend it then," Janos said, raising his hand for a brief moment to silence her when she went to protest. "It's my duty as much as yours. I can bear the responsibility."

Nodding in return, Shia sat in silence a moment longer before getting to her feet and walking over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll make the recommendation. I suggest you stay back here, I'd rather not explain the finer details in front of you."

Janos blinked, somewhat confused. "If that is what you want."

"We know better than to expect what we want," Shia replied, patting his shoulder before opening the door onto the main corridor. "If you're finished with the soup would you mind scraping the remains back onto the stove? I've yet to feed the other two."

"Certainly," Janos replied, smiling awkwardly as she closed the door behind her before doing as she had requested and standing over the stove, stirring the pot on occasion to prevent the contents from burning and to give himself something to do while he waited.

.

Eighty Hylden, Shia had announced after the meeting with the elders to Janos and Sianne; to use the Reaver against their enemy as a race rather than a collection of individuals, it would require the two Generals to let the blade feast on the blood of eighty Hylden. The details of the ritual that would turn the Reaver from a weapon of immense power into the object that would end the war were still secret, Kylian's writings on the subject in language archaic beyond Janos' understanding, but that much could be told.

Strange, to find that feasting on the blood of the Hylden was literal in more than number - Janos had heard in the legends that the blade fed, but the first time he pulled the sword from an enemy's body to find his opponent reduced to a shrivelled husk he had almost dropped it in shock. Such magic had not been seen before by any generation he knew; still, wielding the Reaver gave Janos a sense of _right_, a sense that even if the Hylden had started behaving more and more as if they were on the verge of winning the war that it was his side who were soon to be victorious. Whatever the Hylden were hiding could not compare; the Reaver felt strange in his hands, at home but, at the same time, something otherworldly. Something about the sword felt like a relic despite its lack of age, and even as the lands around burned with the war, scorched land in dire need of healing, crops failing as the Hylden's consumption of energy rendered the world starved of life, Janos could not shake the feeling he was holding the instrument of their salvation.

There was something strange in the way the Reaver fed; the way that even should he despatch an enemy by pike, the sword demanded its share of blood, seeming to draw strength from feeding on their adversaries. But that was to be expected; Janos felt as though it knew whose side it was on, knew who it had chosen to assist, and a holy weapon would never have the same homely feel as a regular sword.

.

Sianne hated the Reaver. He'd watched her with it repeatedly, holding it almost behind her - as if she did not want it to see her killing despite the fact Shia had _told_ them it needed to taste eighty deaths before it would be ready for whatever the final stage constituted. The first time she had used it she was quiet afterwards for the longest of moments, holding it to herself as though it were more sentient than its appearance suggested. He did not know entirely what to make of her behaviour - she seemed reluctant to hand the sword over, but a peculiar sort of reluctant; as though she would relinquish it gladly but didn't feel there was anyone she could let take it.

"Sianne?"

"I don't trust that damned thing," She had said at last, releasing her hold on the handle and stepping back quickly with the sort of awkwardness that screamed of fear, and that in itself was bizarre. He'd seen her flanked by raging Hylden and holding steady.

"Why?" He had asked, looking at the sword in his hands and finding that aside from the somewhat garish handle and unusual curve of the blade it was nothing more than that in physicality. The magic overlaying it definitely had a peculiar presence to it, but even so; it thirsted, but not uncontrollably.

"That sword hungers," Sianne explained. "It isn't just draining blood because of the magic. I would swear that sword _knows_ what it's doing."

He couldn't quite respond to that in a way she would like, because of his very feelings about it; "I would swear that too, but it was forged for our side. I think it knows who it's fighting for -"

"Say what you like, Audron. That sword wants to keep killing even when the battle is through. And it does more than _kill_," she announced before shuddering with what seemed to be halfway between disgust and fear. "One of the Hylden hit the sword hard enough with their own that they should have damaged it. It _should_ be damaged. The sword did not change and that Hylden _disappeared_, and no one else around him _noticed_. It was as if - it was as if the sword stopped him from having ever _existed_."

.

While eighty seemed like an immense number, his and Sianne's positions as Generals meant this thirst for eighty Hylden was satisfied swiftly enough, though keeping exact track was more of a difficulty. Shia seemed to have some awareness of the object though, came by the case Janos rested it in between battles every so often and waved her hand through the air above it, shaking her head each time 'til the last.

"Have the elders meet," Shia told him when the day finally came that she nodded after making her checks. "And Sianne attend. No absences permitted. Bring Kylian's papers with you." Straight to the point, as usual when something of importance was at stake, and while such an order might have taken weeks to complete under his word alone, the moment Shia's name was mentioned in connection with it the meeting was brought forward.

The elders seemed a little confused as to why all of them had to attend, but Shia was swift to set them straight; while taking turns in applying their magical expertise was permissible in the weapon's crafting, this final stage would require all their work at once. A moment passed in which Janos noticed Shia giving him a look of some concern but he nodded on realising what it meant; gave his silent confirmation that despite what she had foreseen for him, it was a pain he would willingly endure for Nosgoth's safety. The war would destroy the land if it continued, that much was clear, and he could not conscientiously let that happen.

"The Reaver is ready. I'll need the seven of you plus Samael and our two Generals to accompany me East, close to Ziegsturhl. No questions asked. Pack light, and no bodyguards or guests are to be brought with you."

.

Janos' task seemed simply to be that of guarding the Reaver; despite Sianne having also used it, he was the one given the task of holding it. Likely that had as much to do with Sianne's repulsion towards the object as anything else, but it was strange to be the only openly armed member of the ten travelling with Shia. Sianne had her swords and pikes, certainly, but they were bundled at her back and not permitted as part of the ritual. Several times Janos had been tempted to make certain he had packed Kylian's papers in Sianne's bag, given he had not been allowed to carry anything more than the Reaver, but he suspected Sianne would have quite happily taken the Reaver and stabbed him with it if he brought up that they might all be travelling for nothing.

Thankfully, on arriving at the clearing Shia had apparently chosen for the ritual, Sianne unpacked the papers herself and handed them over, along with the various bundles Shia had apparently prepared for all this earlier. No one seemed entirely certain what the results of the ritual would be - legend spoke of the raising of the Pillars but without stone or tools to craft it, that seemed unlikely. All anyone knew for certain was that in some way or another, this ritual would assist in the vanquishing of the Hylden; odd, given that Shia was one herself, but then, she had been officially neutral with a faint leaning towards their side longer than he could fully recall, inseparable from Samael since youth.

Shia looked over the clearing one final time before nodding, leading Samael and each of the elders she had brought with her to stand in a partial semi-circle, pausing after a moment before moving them around and gesturing for Sianne to complete the pattern. Janos couldn't help but feel hesitant when she requested he hand over the Reaver but certainly wasn't going to be the one to break the ritual, let her take it and wave him aside while she went to stand a little forward from the middle of the pattern. Clutching the papers Kylian had written so long ago now, Shia started reading the somewhat archaic language of the ritual aloud, everyone seeming a little confused by the fact nothing visible seemed to be happening, when her wording started to speed up, slipping more naturally into the archaic version of their tongue and it quickly became clear she wasn't reading from the papers anymore.

Janos could do little but watch, his skin tingling with more than a sense of something great passing; he felt uncomfortable, almost as he did when preparing for a battle, and all too quickly he realised the reason was that he _could_ feel a battle coming - the temperature always dropped in the presence of Hylden, and it seemed Sianne was equally aware that something was wrong too judging by her expression. Whatever Shia's words were doing seemed to have rooted everyone to the spot, and Janos looked around for any visual confirmation of a Hylden presence, finally noticing with a chill down his spine the outline of some less than stealthy soldier's jagged spear sticking out over the nearby cliff tops.

But they were not moving either - had they come, their own Seers warning them of the ritual to some degree, and found themselves as rooted to the spot by Shia's words as he found himself? Or were they biding their time?

Shia seemed to be through with words but no one was free yet, and Janos would have cried out were his voice not as stolen from him as movement when she turned the Reaver on herself, stabbing it through her stomach but standing still even as it sucked her blood from her, even as she went _limp_, held in place by some unknown force. For a moment, everything was still; and then, tearing, loud enough Janos feared his ears would shatter at the sound of it, and this was no tear in the land, no flattening of hills, it was the _sky itself_, red blazing through the hole in the sky and the figures on the cliff top seemed freed suddenly, wisps of nightmarish shapes moving out from them. Even as the skeletal, gaseous figures headed towards the clearing the Hylden revealed themselves; horrifyingly what had appeared at first to be simply taking flight seemed to be symptomatic of the Hylden being sucked into the hole in the sky itself, though no tugging force could be felt by their own kind - and if this were true, then the dark, misty-looking dots in the distance could too be Hylden. How many were there, being drawn into that abyss in the sky? How many had there _been_?

All of the world seemed to be demanding shares of attention, but when the dark mist finally cleared, begging the thought, the terrifying, surreal, _impossible_ thought that _all_ the Hylden were gone now, it was the tear in the sky that demanded viewing again, closing up with a great crack like thunder. The land itself seemed to shake - and then Janos realised it _was_ shaking, a great white plateau seeming to force itself up out of the soil beneath those gathered - or appearing out of nowhere to force itself _into_ the soil, he could not quite be certain.

He could not say when the Pillars came. He did not recall blinking; did not recall looking anywhere that would have meant his not seeing them form.

The Pillars just _were_, as though they had never been otherwise, and dear God, he had seen that image near as often as the Reaver but the Reaver had been created and these just... they had not been, and now they _were_, brought forward by nothing he could picture, formed of nothing he could imagine, as sudden and infinite as a divine being waking into omniscience.

Seeming released at last from the paralysis that had held him in check, same as the others, Janos fell to his knees at the sight; the others were part of this, he was only the Reaver's guardian, not one with any of the Pillars, but...

And Samael was with Shia, holding her close while the others had started talking to one another animatedly, trying to work out what in God's name had just happened, and though his thoughts should have been with them he was focused on catching what little he could hear of Samael's conversation with his dying wife - God, again, she might be the last Hylden left unless one counted his half-breed daughter, and Janos hoped, hoped with all that was left in him that Shianna had not been taken to wherever the other Hylden had been banished, but only time would tell on that matter.


	5. Chapter 5

Sianne was the first to declare the news everyone suspected as truth; everywhere she'd sent scouts, even into the deepest Hylden territory, even into _Willendorf_, none could be found. They genuinely, truly seemed gone.

The war was over.

The world was renewed.

And Janos had no idea, not even the slightest, as to what was to be done with the new one, other than to celebrate with those who had been his men and women throughout the war now that it was over; they had not converted the Hylden into followers of the Wheel, but they had won. Somehow.

He did not know what to do now - by research or by battle, the war had been his life as long as he could remember. Perhaps he would learn a trade, or farm, as had been one of his plans for some time in the event the war ended - but still.

They had _won_, but he could not shake the feeling of waiting; they had struck the Hylden from the land, something that had been his species' _purpose_ was fulfilled. Without a new destination to reach, what where they? Where were they supposed to go?

.

The assumption had, of course, been that the priests would find an answer through God, or that the elders had a plan, but for the time being everyone seemed far more interested in celebrations; wine flowed freely and near constantly now that Freeport was finally a completely safe destination, and while there was little interest in feasting, the alcohol-fuelled celebrations certainly provoked other varieties of excess. Janos wasn't entirely convinced some of the activities he walked in on throughout the week were physically advisable, although the intoxication seemed to have passive effects at least; the urge to be close to others was near constant, though more intriguing than that was the dehydration that made his head ache and his stomach cramp despite having indulged far less than others.

The loss of Shia had certainly dampened the joy of proceedings down as far as Janos was concerned; with one of his closest friends dead and another in mourning, it was hard to celebrate as freely as most of the Citadel managed. Shianna still had yet to show her face though she'd had the decency to send Samael a letter about her survival.

Vorador found the words long before Janos ever thought to be concerned himself; for a race that had seen to their sworn enemy's departure, there was something unpleasant underlying their victory celebrations.

.

It was of little surprise when after the week's celebrations the elders opted to take Janos and Sianne aside, advising them that to prevent any further strain on resources, the army would need partial disbandment. Sianne seemed content to take charge, irritable after the week's events and relieved at the opportunity to trim out some of those who struggled to pull their weight, and Janos attempted to listen to what was asked of him, shaking his head to think with more clarity even though he ached with thirst. He'd drunk water until he vomited clear but _nothing_ seemed to satisfy him; on the other hand he couldn't recall the last time he ate, and he still had no urge to feed.

After accepting the elders' proposal, despite not being entirely certain what it entailed, Janos took himself to the infirmary to ask if there might be a reason for his lack of appetite. He disliked visiting for anything less than a partially severed or broken limb normally, but recalled all too well how the battle in Termogent Forest had been followed up some time later by several of the participants being rushed to the infirmary with parasitic infections. The thought his thirst might be in some way the responsibility of an animal living inside his body made him squirm.

It seemed no one in the infirmary was entirely familiar with the cause of this thirst; only that if it was an illness, there was an epidemic on their hands. Insatiable thirst, lack of appetite and - likely enough as a side effect of the lack of appetite - malnourishment seemed to be all the known symptoms, and no similar cases could be traced back before three days or so past the raising of the Pillars. Also strange was that it seemed to strike without regard for depth of colour, age, gender... the illness, condition, whatever it was did not discriminate over who it afflicted. Without an identifiable cause, curing the condition was near impossible; it seemed that for now, they could only wait and see what happened, force feed the patients even if any food they did manage to keep down seemed to pass right through them.

.

Scarcely a few hours passed between Janos' visit to the infirmary and the first lead on the nature of the illness came through, in the form of an arrest that Sianne had told Janos to take care of. His student, his problem, as she put it.

Janos didn't know what to make of it; Jayne, Jayne who he'd always thought of as relatively... _ordinary_, caught at the scene of a human's murder in the village. Most unsettling of all was the blood smeared across his lips and the fact he seemed pleased with it - they'd found him hunched over a corpse, _feeding_. More horrifying was that after investigating further, it seemed it was not the first corpse he had produced; it was his third in a week, and on questioning, Jayne had simply declared, "I sated my thirst. Have you?"

.

Running such a check seemed immoral, but Janos had to know; with the nurse's assistance, blood from one of Jayne's corpses was disguised in wine and handed to one of the patients whose thirst cramps had required hospitalisation. Many were close to fainting with thirst by now, exhausted, and there had been instances of collapsing with weakness though no one seemed to be displaying other signs of illness and there had been no fatal dehydration. The expectation was that the patient would either vomit or show no real changes in condition.

No one knew what to do when the test patient got up and was out of bed within the hour, other than to contact the priests to ask if God might be able to explain what had caused such an unholy cure to _work_, and head to their respective bedrooms, attempting to sleep despite being shaken by the day's events.

.

"Get out!"

Janos woke up, heart thudding in his chest, looking up at Samael who was wielding a pike over him. "Wh -"

"They've gone mad. God said 'damn you all' and fell silent. The high priest took his own life. Get out of the Citadel."

Janos got up and threw as many of his belongings as he could grab easily onto the bed, rolling the sheets up to create a makeshift bag. "The Reaver?"

"Shianna took it with her to the canyons," Samael replied before stepping back and folding his arms, teleporting away swiftly.

It didn't take much for Janos to assess the situation; he had a weighty bag of belongings, a pike, and little more than the knowledge that 'they' had gone mad. Slinging the bag over his shoulder and wielding the pike defensively, Janos looked out into the corridor from his open door, found the corridor outside eerily empty save for a few streaks of crimson on the walls, and started walking.

It felt bizarre to be stalking down the corridors as if he were in a Hylden-infested forest and not the place he had been living in for the past few years, uncertain what he would find at the end of his journey, though his kind's blood splattered around the empty halls and the sound of chaos nearby gave him enough clues to render him nauseous.

The corpses from apparent suicides glimpsed through open doors on the corridors were depressingly expected but even so, it did not explain the sound of chaos; suicide had always been a quiet matter, a desperate matter. Walking up to the main hall had his whole body stiffening in tension, the bag seeming lighter as adrenaline started to rush through his veins rather than heavier, and he nearly dropped the pike in something between despair and disbelief as he watched Sianne and two of her favoured commanders standing back to back and fending off their _own_, eyes of the maddened creatures attacking them blazing red.

"God _damn it_ Janos you had best be here to help," Sianne yelled over the ear-shattering noise of battle, made worse by the number of screams that weren't merely wounded but crazed and despairing. Instinct reminded him of dealing with traitors as he fought his way through to her side, making the well-defended triangle into a well-defended square. God, the room was _ruined_, the walls torn apart by what could have been an explosion but what looked more like being battered down by sheer physical strength, but at least Sianne's presence gave him something remotely sane to hold onto. "That _bastard_ priest sparked a _God damn massacre!_"

"And the village?"

"That human village is lost," Sianne's pike sliced through the neck of one who seemed too old for battle, suicidal in their attempt to fight a trained General no matter how tired or surprised she was to be in such a sudden war against her own.

"The thirst will drive them there!" Janos realised aloud, paling at the thought of the humans. They'd be undefended - oh, God, Vorador would be surprised, and human strength was nothing in comparison, especially with madness strengthening his people, "I have to warn - I have to tell them -"

"That would be suicidal and you damn well know it, Janos!"

He couldn't stay. He couldn't just abandon Vorador, the human who had crafted the weapon that _saved them from the Hylden_, and he could not fight his own kind like this, not when they were damn near _throwing_ themselves at the pikes brandished by Sianne and her companions. "The blacksmith -"

"Don't you dare leave for -" Sianne hissed before looking at him briefly and changing somehow, her face softening, looking almost pained for a moment. "Oh, God damn you. Do it, go."

"I'll come back," Janos promised, abandoning the bag with her and fighting his way towards the ruined walls, thankful that at least he wasn't going to have to get to the main entrance because God only knew what the carnage was like in the more densely populated parts of the Citadel, taking flight as soon as he had enough time to spread his wings without getting them sliced and taking off.

"If there's anything to come back to!" Sianne yelled, the true voice of a General, sound carrying even over the clash of metal and drowning sounds of other screams.

.

Janos knew, God help him, he knew his duty was to his kind, to restore _some_ semblance of order to the Citadel, but the whole world seemed to have gone mad. The high priest's suicide had taken from most of his kind what hope they had to hold on to and they were forcing their return to the Wheel the only way they knew how, risking God's wrath sending them straight to oblivion.

Those that had not committed suicide had taken the priest's death as an excuse to go mad with their thirst and he found his path leading not to his kind, not to Shianna hidden out in the canyons and please, God, safe there, but to the village; it was too close and he knew those afflicted with blood madness would have flown there intent on making their kills.

The sky was thick with smoke, so much of the village burning, streets red with blood and he prayed, prayed with what little breath was left in his lungs that one building disguised by forest and hill would not have been touched yet.

Landing heavily in the forest and hoping he would not be seen by the mad creatures making up his brethren, Janos ran the rest of the way stopping only to vomit, his nerves shattered and taking their toll on his body. Exhaustion beckoned but he _had_ to know, fearing the worst, wondering if there ever _could_ be worse after this.

Nearly freezing on seeing the lights out in the building as he arrived at the steps beneath it, Janos forced himself to repress the panic as best as possible to find his breath, realising that at least he could smell the humans within, smell blood that this new, hunter's instinct told him had not been spilt.

"Vorador?"

He'd never smelt anything like blood before but even so there was something familiar in the scents he caught on the air, and God, how had he known the scents were from more than one human?

"Vorador, please, talk to me!"

A tiny sound as the door opened, just barely, and Janos found any further words cut off by the violent grabbing of his arm to drag him inside, Vorador slamming him against the door as he locked it, and only survival instinct prioritised the fact there was a sword at his throat enough for him to notice it. "What in Hell's name is going on out there?"

"I don't know," Janos replied, ill with relief at Vorador being safe though he knew he should have trusted in the human's strength and common sense, but still jarred to the core by what was going on, and oh God, Vorador needed him to explain. "God stopped talking. He stopped talking. The Hylden, their curse, and-"

A thud outside shocked him into silence, Vorador raising his hammer in fury, clearly suspecting Janos had been followed or worse, had _led_ others here until enough time passed that it became clear the sound was no threat. Two humans in finery, perhaps customers or passing merchants, occupied a darkened corner of the room, explaining why Janos had smelt more than one human. Part of him wanted to tell them the knives they wielded would do little to a vampire, but the part of him used to keeping morale up in the most dangerous of situations knew full well it would only panic them more. Sometimes holding onto a lie helped. "I'm playing host tonight because your people started tearing mine apart," Vorador hissed, Janos all too aware from the staring at his mouth why the human who had been his friend for so long suddenly trusted him no more than he would have trusted a hylden. "Your teeth. Fangs. What -"

"I don't know," Janos repeated, relief at Vorador's safety and panic at the world around him combining to leave him strangely calm in the most unsteady of ways, and he eased away from the door to take Vorador's hammer, carefully avoiding the humans in the corner as he sought nails with hands stilled by adrenaline so that he could nail the door closed. No lock would stand up to an attack but reinforced wood ought to as long as the madness had not increased the strength of his suddenly fiendish brethren. "It's a blood curse," he explained, even though he _wasn't_ explaining, could tell Vorador nothing concrete for he knew nothing himself. "I don't know. It might... oh God." He'd thought his breathing calm but had neglected to realise he wasn't breathing out, tried to force his lungs to relax. "I don't know." The floorboards were more decoration than anything else, laid on top of near flat stone, were easy to pull up to add to the door's resilience.

He didn't catch Vorador's expression after that, knew only that the dizziness and disbelief hit him hard with the lack of anything further he could do, and something worse than mere blackness flooded his vision as he collapsed.

.

He had never slept through dawn before, but was more surprised at his body allowing him to wake ever again than at the length of his sleep. The other two humans had left and Vorador seemed to be in a deep sleep of his own, sword laid out across his lap as he stretched out on the bench Janos had sat on so many times before. Likely enough he had stayed awake through the night, keeping guard. The floorboards Janos had torn up were lined neatly against the wall so at least it seemed there had been no carnage during the night; he felt helpless enough and the scent of mixed blood was strong enough on the air that he wished his sense of smell would disappear altogether because that scent was nearly as telling as sight.

Vorador stirred after what might have been minutes, might have been near an hour. Janos' thoughts had scrambled to a point where any sense of time was lost. "What is it like outside?"

"I have not looked," Janos replied, understanding the wary look on Vorador's face but wishing it could have come at some other time, especially given honesty demanded he add, "I dared not look alone."

"It sounds quieter now," Vorador noted before stretching and getting up, heading to the door and opening it out onto the forest. "I'll look first."

Strange that Vorador was so much calmer about the prospect of corpses when Janos had been the General, had _dealt_ death, never mind seen it. Silence followed Vorador's exit and Janos wondered if he should wait for his return but decided against, headed outside and up onto the hill to stand at Vorador's side and look over the village.

In retrospect he should have interpreted Vorador's silence as a sign of shock, but with or without preparation Janos suspected his reaction would have remained the same.

It was the light that made it unbearable. No dramatic stormy background, no cloudy shadow to disguise the worst. It was clear, sunlit, and real. Pikes did not make for clean kills.

How did you prepare for your entire _race_ committing suicide?

The pressure of Vorador's arms around his waist might have made him vomit again were his stomach not empty from the night before, but pressure aside he barely registered the contact, because it was too much. There was no reaction for this. _There was no reaction for this._

"Breathe," urged the gruff voice at his ear, the body behind him nearly as tense as his own, holding him close and tight, not letting him escape. "Breathe," it repeated, and Janos went to take a breath but found only screams, raw, low, bloody screams, disbelief and terror taking their toll and burning his throat, leaving him weak to the point where the arms at his waist had to let go and let him fall to his knees.

His world was gone. What was he meant to do with its remains?


	6. Chapter 6

Vorador found himself wondering far more than he would have liked what had happened in the weeks since he walked into his store to get out the drinks that he and Janos clearly needed, returning to find the vampire had disappeared and only God knew where he'd headed to.

Huh. Ironic, given it was the vampire's God who seemed responsible for the fact their species in general had gone completely mad. His initial expectations had been to find Janos' body draped over a pike or sword like one of his peers, but there were certainly no signs of him having done so anywhere in the village and it wasn't as if any of the vampires had outright disfigured themselves through their choices for suicide; unlike humans they did not have the option of throwing themselves from a great height, and none had gone to the effort of removing their wings to allow themselves to die from such a method.

He'd heard Janos talk of Uschtenheim and found his thoughts wandered to that village more and more, given his own would never be the same. Word of a massacre spread quickly and besides, with only a handful of survivors to clean up the mess, removing the taint of so much death was nigh-on impossible. Heading North meant chasing a ghost, but nothing was as senseless as staying home and he had the tools of his trade with him; if his quest turned out to be a fool's errand he could easily take up apprenticeship in, or even ownership of, another forge.

Handing the deeds for his store over, Vorador took the not as generous as he'd have liked handout and headed outside; though that said, the handout was fairly reasonable given the village would not be reinhabited anytime soon. He took his time waiting for a moment's privacy to divide the money up between bags, boots and belt, aware that there was no sense in letting one pickpocket's luck take most of his savings, wondered exactly how his supplies would fare across the journey. He still felt a damned fool in some ways for what he was going to do, heading into long frozen, virtually uninhabitable territory; without shelter it was a potentially fatal errand no matter what animal skins and blankets one brought for warmth, though he'd heard Janos mention in several of his stories about his home an inn up in Uschtenheim that he might make use of.

The vampire race had become a monstrosity but Janos had never been a monster; he had been a friend, had been kind of heart and nature or doing a damned good impression of someone who was, and with little else to occupy him other than searching out a new home, he might as well afford Janos the courtesy of checking up on his health.

All this assumed Janos to be alive, but there certainly seemed no reason to assume otherwise - surely, if Janos had intended on a self-righteous suicide like the rest of his race, it would have happened in the Citadel or village like everyone else. Heading to Uschtenheim to commit suicide certainly had a poetic note to it, but made little sense otherwise; Janos had always seemed like a sensible enough person at heart.

Vorador hoped his reasoning was not just out of blind hope for his friend's health.

.

Any course he plotted could only be vague given he had little knowledge of Nosgoth outside the village, and reaching Vasserbunde after days of walking was outright frustrating when he discovered that, as much as he had just aimed to head North, he'd actually headed about halfway as far as he needed to in that direction; the main bulk of his journey would be in three times as many days travel East. To hear Janos speak of Uschtenheim, Vorador had pictured he just needed to keep heading North until he reached the impenetrable mountains; but given the mountains framed nearly all of Nosgoth's North, Janos' directions had been painfully vague.

Still, for all he might have expected to struggle in finding directions from locals, Vorador found that there was a darkly amusing continuity in human reactions as he headed from village to village, particularly the further into Nosgoth's obscure reaches he found himself. Entering any local tavern would be followed by the villagers switching from talking in common to talking in whatever obscure local dialects they knew - and yet, as soon as he flashed the handle of his sword and mentioned looking for a vampire, they were all ears and politeness, putting his drinks on their tabs and telling him every detail they knew about the local scourges and the direction in which Uschtenheim in particular lay. All he had to do for information was to keep quiet about the fact the sword was far likelier to be used against any person who attempted to get in the way of his finding the vampire in question than against the vampire itself.

.

Vorador had thought, all the way through his journey, that humans would pose his greatest threat. There were too many cutthroats and pickpockets by far, especially in outer reaches like this where there simply wasn't enough food to go around. Whores he admired in that at least, diseases aside - and those were virtually considered little more than an unfortunate outcome of the trade - they did little to hurt anyone. If he hadn't seen an uncle die of syphilis he'd likely have indulged in them, given how the comfort of warm arms and a room for sleeping in would have been preferable to camping out in the cold.

Even so, between Vasserbunde and Termogent Forest came his closest brush with death and it was not at the end of a human blade as he had expected; he'd heard of a blue-skinned demon living in the cave and thought he may as well investigate.

Thank God for small favours in that it had been too busy feeding on one of the half-rotten corpses lining its lair to actively hunt him; with vampiric strength already on its side, if it had possessed the element of surprise, he would likely have been on the receiving end of its teeth in his neck. He'd not seen a vampire feed before - had shut himself in with the merchants as soon as they had told him about fangs and draining bodies of blood. Perhaps it was seeing the vampire feasting on a half-rotten corpse that made the process downright nauseating, but something about the whole thing seemed appalling.

That, and the smell; caves did not lend themselves to fresh air, and being trapped in with the results of multiple corpses was not pleasant, especially given that on top of the expected rotting, there was a definite accompanying scent of excrement and urine. Not just a larder, then; the vampire had brought humans here who weren't dead.

Well, the vampire aside, no one would be adding to that smell anymore; Vorador looked at the detached head, had swung out almost instinctively with his sword when the vampire lunged at him initially. It was more of a relief when he brought the vampire's head outside to realise in the better light that he had not killed a vampire he knew, though there was not much of a surprise in that; after the war ended many vampires had gone back to their original homes in Nosgoth rather than staying at the Citadel. Besides which, Janos aside, he'd normally only had the briefest of visits from any vampire; the initial visit to request a weapon, trinket or piece of armour be forged; the second and final visit to collect the finished article.

.

He could not be entirely certain if it was tricks played on him by his mind or a strange truth, but the very days seemed to change as he headed further towards Uschtenheim; night seemed to last longer in the central regions of Nosgoth, and while they were not so cold as to hurt, there was a definite chill on the wind. Distressingly, the chill did not entirely seem born of cold; curled up in a makeshift tent at the outer regions of Termogent Forest, careful not to go deep enough to lose track of the mountains at any point or to find himself in the swamps, Vorador could not shake a sense of wrongness. He lacked the sensitivity of vampires to such things, could not say "Oh, the land is wounded" or come up with some such metaphysical nonsense to explain why, despite being perfectly safe and utterly exhausted where he'd set up camp, he could not sleep.

He'd often suspected there was more to the war between vampires and Hylden than mere religion; granted that they took their beliefs far more seriously than humans, on average, but even so. He'd only met a Hylden once - Shia, if he recalled her name correctly, one of Janos' acquaintances - but there was something a little unsettling about the way the temperature around her dropped noticeably. It was something Janos had told him about - a trait all Hylden had - but seemed completely unnatural even with the warning in mind; warm blooded creatures radiated heat, even cold blooded creatures simply were one with room temperature for the most part, but he had never known something that took warmth _from_ the air.

.

Uschtenheim was not so far from Termogent Forest, even if finding a way into that part of the mountains proved no small task. Its beauty was striking even despite Vorador's natural distaste for cold, soft white snowdrifts and faintly blue glacial structures making a startling change from much of Nosgoth.

There was no real need to ask if he'd ended up in the right area; the dialect of local humans carried an accent even stronger than Janos' own. Moreover, where Janos had called Uschtenheim 'cold' - and Janos was someone who seemed discomforted by even the mildest heat, skin clearly used to low temperatures - 'cold' in human terms was apparently 'freezing to the point of permanent damage'.

He could have cursed on arriving in Uschtenheim's village and hearing no vampire stories, no complaints of attacks from blue-skinned demons or similar. Certainly there was a structure known to have belonged to the vampires, but the humans had nothing to say on the subject of finding drained bodies lying around; simply that there had been a strange number of disappearances lately, but they were all more concerned with a mysterious plague that had led to people dropping dead for no apparent reason.

.

In between hoping that the mysterious plague was not some genuine illness likely to claim his life before he made something of the promise to himself that he would at least try to find Janos in Uschtenheim, Vorador headed to where he'd been told the vampire-built structure rested.

All very over-dramatic, as to be expected of vampires, he supposed; sweeping balconies, majestic, somewhat imposing figures.

And damned near impossible to get to without risking life and limb, given the mountainside had been worn smooth by the years, which begged the question of how the aerie had not collapsed already; probably held together by some impossible magic, as if the vampires thought that for all oddities exhibited by the human race they had to try and go one step further each time.

.

There were no locks in the aerie; Vorador had felt his skin tingle when he climbed along to the balcony with more than the expected vertigo and fear of falling to his death, so it seemed any wards set up were aimed only at warding off Hylden visitors; maybe vampire visitors too, given the situation now. Human break-ins probably hadn't even been considered with the only entrance Vorador could find being through the balcony - if one didn't have wings or the ability to teleport then the only way up was to scale the damn near sheer mountainside without slipping and cracking one's back on the ice and rocks below.

The silence ought to have made him uneasy, and the dried rust-coloured stains around the balcony ought to have made him fearful, but for everything he ought to do Vorador found his instincts were nothing compared to the need to complete his journey. He had no inclination towards backtracking, not after coming this far, and even if he did suspect that the sword he carried would be useless against a feral vampire of Janos' fighting ability he was not about to turn coward.

Keeping his footsteps quiet as he could manage, knowing the worst possible outcome short of death would be to startle Janos into fleeing - and that was assuming that he _had_ found Janos and not some other vampire - Vorador stalked down the corridor, opening the door to each room he passed with care, until he finally stood at the last door in that particular hallway, taking a deep breath.

The breath was knocked out of him from behind, strong claws grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him up against the wall. Preservation instinct had him kicking out and sheer damned luck meant his kick hit the creature behind him between the legs, causing it to let go and double up in agony, and then he turned and kneed it in the throat, some strange, serene even in danger part of his mind thinking "Well, this is one way to say hello" as the vampire passed out. Luck again, letting him knock the creature out with the right amount of pressure to its jaw; clearly whatever divine force governed luck had the desire to keep him and the vampire alive today.

Blazing red eyes and new silver streaks in his hair or not, the face on the vampire at his feet was clearly Janos, and Vorador breathed out with a strange sort of relief as he took the loops of rope from his shoulder and used them to make sure he wasn't going to end up a feast as soon as his friend woke up, even though it was a bit unsettling to tie wings in place when they weren't limbs he could call familiar.

After some deliberation Vorador decided that the answer to his constant thought of _'Well, what now?'_ was to drag Janos to the nearest bed by his feet so that when he woke up the discomfort of being bound and tied would at least be eased a little by being on something soft, though it was very odd to realise that while the bulk of Janos' body was unusually light, the wings were one _hell_ of a weight compared to the rest of him; no wonder vampires tended to be built top heavy. Most of him wanted to head off and find the source of the smell that permeated much of the aerie but priorities needed to be set and until he was certain that the binding he'd come up with was effective, his number one priority ought to be waiting out Janos' unconsciousness with the sword he still hoped he wouldn't need. Fighting the feral cave vampire he'd met on his way up to Uschtenheim had been difficult physically but easy to deal with because not only had it wanted him dead, but he hadn't known it as a fully coherent being with a personality. Janos had been a friend.

Strong legs stirred before lashing out on realising how little they could stir, but apart from being able to roll a little on the bed it seemed Janos had as little ability to move as Vorador had hoped. "Morning," Vorador greeted his involuntary host, though judging by the sky, 'afternoon' would have been more accurate. Another thing hard to tell with Uschtenheim's peculiarities.

Janos seemed to recognise his voice, freezing still and falling silent, and somehow that seemed worse than the lashing out mindlessly.

"It's good to see you too," Vorador prompted, toying with the handle of his sword while keeping his eyes on Janos' face even if the vampire did keep trying to avoid his gaze. "Thank you for going through a couple of months of hell to find out if I was alive or dead and nearly breaking your spine on the mountains because I wanted to live in an ice cube." Janos made an odd choking noise but it wasn't out of humour, far from it, and Vorador folded his arms before finally asking, "What?"

"You've seen what I am," Janos replied, trying to curl in on himself though the binding didn't allow him the freedom to do so. "I'm weak. I gave in."

"Gave in to what?"

"The thirst."

Vorador realised all too clearly that he did recognise the smell that had been following him through the aerie, though he had not known it at first; back in the feral vampire's cave it had been stronger, laced with additional rot courtesy of the damp surroundings. "Where have you left the bodies?"

"The courtyard," Janos replied, and Vorador wondered how long it had been since Janos last cut his hair because the silver streaks looked out of place on locks that had grown shaggy. Wondered how long it had been since Janos took care of more in himself than hunger.

"I'll be right back," Vorador said, ignoring Janos' pleas for him not to go looking, heading out into the corridor and following the smell with some confidence now, content that at least he knew what he was going to find at the end.

Strange that this was the third mass grave he'd seen in his life now, and perhaps because of familiarity with such things, or perhaps because he knew nothing of and had no empathy with the victims strewn about the place, it did not truly move him. None of the visible bodies were bloated with rot, and most looked as if they had been fed upon several times past their death; drained as best as possible, though Vorador still felt something about the process was inefficient.

Empathic with the wrong sort, as always.

.

If Janos had been hesitant to meet his eyes before, the refusal to look was even more intense now, burying his head in the pillows as best as he could. "Do I make a good godless butcher?"

"I can't say it suits you," Vorador said before walking over to the bed and pushing on Janos' shoulder to roll him onto his back, crushing the bound wings slightly but making Janos' attempts to avoid him even more futile. "But I think this self-hatred suits you less. I want you out of these ropes and we're going to find a way to help you manage this thirst."

Janos stared at him at last, eyes disbelieving. "I _massacred_."

"I've killed animals for food before," Vorador shrugged, before pushing Janos' hair back from his forehead. "And seeing as you're not trying to bite me anymore, I'd think that the thirst is manageable."

"You're mad," Janos replied, and Vorador bit his tongue to stop himself laughing out of place even though Janos' comment had him bordering on the edge of helplessness, as much from mild hysteria as anything else.

"Probably. But as long as your name is still Janos Audron, you're the only one of your kind I would call a friend. Seeing as almost everyone else I would have called the same left after the village was destroyed, I think I have the right to make a host of you."


	7. Chapter 7

Janos could not say he had expected a visitor; certainly not a self-imposed guest and certainly not Vorador; less than that had he expected someone to _help_ him. He was a murderer; he'd taken people from the streets, uncaring of whether they had family or friends to mourn them, uncaring of why they had been out at night, and he had killed them. He was a blood drinker, a scavenger, he was _worthless_ and he had ignored his duties; for weeks he had paid no attention to his role as a guardian, would not even have known if the Reaver had been stolen from the Canyons.

But Vorador had not cared. Vorador had _looked_ for him instead of finding a new home, something he ought to have found easy with his skills and the story he had to tell of why he'd left the old one. And even when Janos had attacked him, even when Janos' madness could have cost him his _life_, Vorador had held steady, practical and simple, and...

He did not deserve this. Did not know what Vorador had planned, how the human intended to help him - and he did _need_ help, because no matter how he cared for his human friend he could not ignore the singing of Vorador's heartbeat in his ears, the way his thirst was near unquenchable, human after human scattered about his aerie's courtyard. He'd killed nearly one each day across the weeks; sometimes less, sometimes more. He could not dare think how many he had killed in total.

"If you start getting the urge to tear my throat out I'd rather you head back to the village and kill someone else. Or at least tell me so I have time to knock you out," Vorador announced before loosening Janos' bonds, helping him to feet that felt almost ticklish as blood raced to them given the binding had slowed his circulation in most areas before gesturing for him to follow.

The courtyard still resembled a butcher's stall, but something a little more upmarket given the way the bodies had been stacked neatly into a pile, and some... _device_ Janos couldn't quite understand set up next to them. Curiously, nearly every pot that could be found in the aerie seemed to have been stacked there too.

For a moment he wondered how Vorador had ever been able to climb down to the courtyard - or back up again, for that matter - before he spotted the tied together bed sheets around one of the aerie's columns.

Vorador took hold of the knotted bed sheets and slid down to the courtyard before heading over to the peculiar device and using the rope he'd retrieved from Janos to connect up the various pulleys before dragging a corpse towards it, tying its feet up with one end of the rope. "Take this," Vorador ordered, holding out the other end of rope. "I would have tested this myself but you were occupying the rope. Seems only fair you should have to do the work."

Taking firm hold, Janos started pulling and found that the system of pulleys Vorador had set up seemed to make life several times easier; once the corpse had been lifted a good foot off the ground Vorador took the rope back from him, tying it up and seeming somewhat impressed with his own handiwork. Janos had to ask, quite simply; "What now?"

Vorador gave Janos a look that he couldn't quite interpret but suspected was an amused measure of his foolishness, handed over a knife. "Slit his throat."

"... He's already dead," Janos pointed out, which tipped Vorador over the edge into laughter as he took the knife back and slit the throat himself, a thick glut of partially congealed blood running out from the gash in the corpse's neck and into the bowl below. "... Ah."

"Ah indeed." Vorador tilted his head to one side as he watched the last of the blood drain. "I've seen one or two human butchers do this with animals. Not that they had bitten and partially drained the animals' blood beforehand, but still. Efficiency."

"There is something decidedly dark about you, Vorador." Janos said, chewing on his cheek in thought as he waited until only drips were left, moving the bowl aside and untying the corpse's feet.

"I would say I'm ruthlessly practical rather than dark." Vorador caught the body and dragged it off to the side, setting it down and making sure there was a decent distance between it and the bodies that hadn't been drained yet, though the slit throats were a good marker in and of themselves. "You can start the next one, and when we're done here, we're cleaning you up."

"I'm not a child," Janos reminded, giving Vorador a warning look when the human opened his mouth with what looked very much like full intentions of saying something offensive. "I can clean myself."

"Very well, you can clean yourself, and I'll clean your clothes. Either way, I need to know where there's a water source other than ice around here."

Janos nodded, wondered how much food and water Vorador had brought with him as preparation for the trip. The blacksmith's thoughtful streak ran deep - were he a strategist he'd be outright fearsome, ironic given he was on the one side that had yet to engage in a truly consuming war. "If you need water you can drink, the lake is clean enough, but normally cleaning is for the hot springs -"

"Good," Vorador cut across. "I'll gather your rags and riches together, then you can show me how the hell we get out of this damned place to the springs."

.

Vorador was swift in his preparations, untying his makeshift rope after finishing with using it for climbing and separating out the various sheets used to make it before folding them roughly into a bundle and heading for Janos' bedroom to reclaim the scattered, filthied robes. Within minutes he had a full basket gathered together; Janos had almost forgotten he _owned_ a basket, felt outright ashamed of the unwashed clothing that had accumulated. "Well?" Vorador asked. "May I have the directions?"

Janos hesitated, twitching his wings both in instinctive preparation for flight and in wondering of how best to put forward the facts. Vorador tended to prefer straightforward answers, so may as well be truthful; "Humans can't reach the springs - not with any ease, anyway. If you insist on coming with me, I'll have to carry you."

Vorador shrugged. "I insist. Until I'm damned sure you're not going to fly off to the other end of Nosgoth when I turn my back on you, I'm not letting you out of my sight for more than ten minutes. Are you ready?"

"Well, yes -"

"One moment then," Vorador cut across, before putting down the basket he had been holding and tipping the clothes out onto the floor, taking a bed sheet from the pile and wrapping it around the others before tying it into a neat bundle he could then sling over his shoulders and secure around his arms. "Good. Now."

.

It had been months since he'd carried Kylian out of the air forge. Even that incident had been strange; Janos was not used to having another person's weight to support, though the fact Vorador was not a dead weight made carrying him immeasurably easier despite a bundle of robes settled against his back.

God, and Kylian was one of those who'd taken their life on realising what their curse meant, yet another of those he'd known who was no longer part of this world. Jayne had been executed for the human murders - and how cruel a twist of fate that had been given what followed hours after the execution - and he'd heard nothing from Elena, suspected the worst.

"If you thought any louder I could hear you," Vorador announced, first words he'd said on the journey. He'd repressed any fear of falling or vertigo well all things considered, perhaps by keeping quiet so that there was no chance of him being able to acknowledge such fears. And that was good too; Janos would never say such a thing out loud in case it brought on the very accident he was trying to avoid, but he could easily picture dropping someone who started squirming in terror.

The hot springs had not changed with the raising of the Pillars; it was surprising how little of the North had in general, but that said, the North had never been as ravaged by the war as other areas and had less to heal. It was hard to estimate how much of Nosgoth was healing through the war being over and how much through the strange magic of the Pillars, but either way it was clear that the Hylden's absence seemed to be letting the land cleanse swifter than he had ever thought possible.

Landing carefully given that he was holding Vorador a little lower than himself and needed the human to prepare for grounding as much as him, Janos breathed out in relief, muscles seeming to unwind at the very thought of bathing. It was a little strange watching Vorador shed the bundle of robes he had tied to his back; easy to forget that human physiology _allowed_ such a thing.

"I'll attend to my task if you attend to yours," Janos announced, trying to sound reasonably confident as he found a somewhat more sheltered part of the springs, waiting for Vorador to look away before stripping and sliding into the water. It was easy to forget just how indulgent the waters were, almost too hot against his skin, especially in comparison with the cool air of the rest of the mountains.

Even if he was conscious to retain an air of dignity as he washed, Janos still found himself feeling overly self conscious of his nudity. There was only a certain amount of emotional distance one could keep when washing one's skin; the gestures were inherently sensual, and that in itself was discomforting, especially given that Janos had come to something of a realisation some time ago, ignoring the fact as best as possible for practical reasons.

He was attracted to Vorador. Despite his being human, despite the visible tattoos and the fact that high cheekbones aside he bore few of the traits normally found attractive by his kind, Janos found him appealing. Certainly not to the degree where he was stunned senseless by Vorador's looks; it was an appeal that had grown as he learnt more about the human, and somehow, aging had added further character to Vorador's face that he could not help but admire. Watching him rinse the dried blood off used robes, eyes focused on the task and slightly shuttered, there was something outright handsome in Vorador. Taking a bath barely out of the human's vision made Janos feel quite alarmingly exposed.

It did not help that when Vorador finished washing the bundle he had brought with him, leaving some to soak in the water a while longer, he disobeyed Janos' unspoken request for privacy by walking over and picking up the robes he had shed in order to bathe. "Should I wash these too?" He asked, raising an eyebrow despite his expressions not being aimed in Janos' direction. At least he'd kept his eyes averted.

Well, thank God for the heat of the springs providing an effective excuse for the flush to his skin. "I'll need something to wear once I'm through," Janos reminded; it ought to be obvious why even without explanation. Common courtesy and modesty aside, walking around Uschtenheim in the nude was not a recommendable course of action for even those with the hardiest of skins.

"Fair enough. I'll drape the rest to dry, let me know when you're ready."

Watching Vorador leave left him at once slightly disappointed yet more relaxed, able to finish his bath in relative privacy as a few distant tree limbs were borrowed for drying his clothes, sinking beneath the water regardless of his wings. They already needed grooming; besides, after shedding the water from his wings the time for their drying would be bought by a need to dress and recover his washed robes.

.

After setting Vorador to hanging up the rest of his clothes - regardless of Vorador taking him as host, he was not yet prepared to treat the human as a guest - Janos retreated to his bedroom, looking through the cabinets, scarce remembering where he stored washing equipment. Strange to see all the dust here; at the Citadel he was meticulous about arranging and cleaning his property, and he had been the same here; just that after so long away from home nature had taken its course; he'd have to make several quick repairs to the stone, quakes in the area having left it in such a state it might have collapsed were it not for the magical support.

Finally he managed to recover his razor, nearly dropping it and cursing out loud despite himself when Vorador announced his entrance by slamming the door open.

"Local slang?" Vorador asked, walking over to him and taking the razor from his hands with a slight frown. At least Janos had instinctively sworn in a manner mostly confined to vampires, else Vorador might have been a little more violent in acquiring the razor.

"Something like that," Janos replied, before tilting his head towards the razor. "I was about to take care of -"

"I'll cut your hair for you," Vorador replied, looking about the room before nudging Janos over to the bed. "Sit down."

At least Vorador had been swift enough to assume the correct answer instead of leaping to conclusions about Janos' bringing out the razor, even if he did have to roll his shoulders to ease the tension in them as he sat down on the bed's edge. Despite common sense and despite himself he couldn't help but feel anxious as Vorador moved to kneel behind him, lifting the hair from his neck and causing dark strands to fall across his face as he sliced the tangled length away before scolding him, "You might have been a decent enough General but you're god-awful at looking after yourself."

"How did you know where to find me?" Janos asked, enjoying the alien feeling of air cool against the back of his neck. Apparently Vorador was intent on cutting it short, but he had no complaints; had felt strangely uncomfortable with the length of his hair for some time now but never quite got around to taking care of it.

"I didn't. Your damned directions were completely useless; I headed North and wandered the rest of the way from there, listening out for pretty much any vampire story I could hear. Apparently the humans around here have been made stupid by the cold because rather than complaining about vampire attacks they seemed to be more concerned with a mysterious plague."

"I'm a plague now?" Janos half-asked, half-stated in an amused tone of voice. "It's inventive."

"Human talent," Vorador replied, sounding similarly amused as he ran fingers over Janos' neck to sweep loosened hair away, the razor returning to add a little more structure to the cut. It had been a long time since he wore his hair so short, but with the stress of recent weeks having added silver to his hair that had not been there before, it seemed an advisable change to make. "I think we're done here."

Janos nodded, taking the razor back from Vorador carefully and using its reflective surface to survey the resulting haircut as best as possible. It would certainly do for now, even if the slightly over-long front did add something a little whimsical to the look he would likely have to rid himself of at a later date. "And now grooming," Janos grumbled, going to get off the bed before finding his shoulder tapped, Vorador waving a small bottle of oil. Apparently he'd come prepared.

"I'm guessing this is what you use normally?"

"Well, yes, but -" how to explain vampire physiology to Vorador? He'd never experienced wings and how the sensitivity of the nerves could make one react. "I ought to do this myself." Vorador sighed a little melodramatically, held the bottle out to Janos while running his free hand along the outer bone of one wing and sending Janos' breath quickening against his will. Oh, this was a _bad_ idea, but he had spent so much time without company, and it was hard to resist when Vorador was just warm enough to comfort something deep within his skin. Waving Vorador's hand aside, Janos dug his claws deep into the mattress to give him something to concentrate on while resisting the urge to flare his wings. "If you're determined. Be careful, any accidental tickling and I'm likely to break your arm or knock you off the bed."

"As you wish. I thought birds had a natural secretion for this," Vorador pointed out as he tipped a little of the oil into his palm before setting the bottle aside and rubbing his hands together.

"As do we," Janos replied, tensing at the first stroke of calloused hands down his wings, "But we disregard it as you would sweat." Vorador's stroking grew firmer as he became more certain of what he was doing, the friction bringing warmth and the sensation of trapped dust being shifted and replaced by a light slick of clean oil soothing Janos' nerves. "The smell is quite... pungent," Janos added, tensing further as Vorador's hands slipped under his wings, more oil coating them in preparation for the under-feathers. He should not have let Vorador do this favour; it was too intimate, far more than he'd expected. Grooming was not uncommon between close friends but there were close friends and there were close friends you were _attracted_ to, and the difference was all-important.

"I thought I'd smelt musk," Vorador agreed. "It doesn't smell as bad as you might think." Fingers grazed the base of Janos' wings and he gasped despite himself, wasn't surprised by hands withdrawing and the expected question, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Janos assured, catching his breath and forcing himself to regain his composure, freeing a hand from the bed sheets to rub the back of his neck. "That was instinctive. I'm sorry."

Vorador said nothing, hands returning to their task, and this time Janos bit his lip as the remaining under feathers were oiled before he gasped and arched back, unable to help himself as Vorador seized the base of his wings and oiled this too. Impossible to suppress the sounds he wanted to make _and_ resist the urge to let his wings flare. "There's no need f-for you to oil there," Janos explained, felt Vorador still for a moment before the callused, oiled hands repeated their journey up the base of his wings, coating it further.

"There is every need if it makes you gasp like that," Vorador replied, voice dark with something Janos had not expected, barely believed even after hearing it, and Janos turned to comment but had the words stolen away by firm lips on his. It didn't matter that the angle was awkward, that his neck was aching and his wings felt crushed between his body and Vorador's chest, because _Vorador_ had started the kiss, not him, and that meant this was _mutual_.

He had to catch his breath again when Vorador pulled away, wondered when his eyes had closed as he reopened them, and licked his bruised lips as Vorador smirked. "I should have known I would have to act first," Vorador said, stretching with satisfaction before allowing Janos to nudge him into lying on his back.

Still unsteady with the idea that this was truly happening, Janos shifted to kneel over the blacksmith, saw that Vorador's loose trousers did no more to disguise arousal than his own robes did to hide his. "How long have you -"

"Do you remember?" Vorador interrupted, eyes narrowing, and Janos wondered who was going to make the next move, unsure what to do, uncertain what he wanted. "No. So you should realise I have no more idea than you as to how long."

Vorador had taken the lead in starting this but seemed content to relinquish control, letting Janos unlace his trousers with hands that kept fumbling with the suddenness of this and slide them down before lifting his own robes up. "You hid your feelings well," Janos said as he shifted to rub against Vorador, biting back a gasp at the contact of flesh against flesh and trusting Vorador's hands to take care of what he couldn't, his own hands occupied with maintaining his balance given he half expected to collapse at any moment in sheer disbelief at what had happened.

"You weren't looking for them. You were too busy thinking that I could never be interested," Vorador teased before reaching up suddenly and wrapping both arms around Janos' waist, pulling him down close even though doing so limited their movements.

Perhaps that was a good thing; gave Janos time to recover a little from the head start in arousal Vorador had given him through grooming. It was a short rest though, Vorador rolling quickly so that they lay side by side, most of their legs sticking out comically off the bed's edge, but at least this gave them more ability to manoeuvre without crushing Janos' wings or forcing one of them to keep balance. Dislodged feathers and the tufts of sliced away hair made an odd addition to the bed sheet's surface but even if his skin was fascinated by the sensations Janos found all his attention was devoted to Vorador's eyes, the way he was being devoured beneath that stare. No violence in them despite Janos finding his hand slapped away when he went to stroke Vorador's erection, Vorador's hand trailing up his side beneath the robes instead of somewhere more intimate and exploring him, and it was so strange to realise that they truly were from different species. The curve of Vorador's back and waist was so slight in comparison to his own, the muscles of his torso not geared to support wings, muscles of his legs not designed to help him spring into the air. Their colours were different, their hands different - even the amount of body hair was different, and he'd given so little thought to this in recent times. He never forgot that Vorador was human but ever since the time Vorador had angrily declared "I'm a blacksmith, not some chicken-boned child", Janos had barely given a moment's consideration to the fact they weren't from the same race.

It ought to have been too cold for it but Janos found he seemed to be sweating anyway, his hand unsteady as he brushed his thumb across Vorador's lips before moving in for another kiss, and this time Vorador allowed the contact, finally sliding a hand back between them and letting Janos return the gestures. God, he'd never... he remembered what slick heat had been like, sinking into warmth and softness and wetness, but Vorador was male and human and _different_. Vorador was hard, hard for _him_, and a few quick hand movements were enough to shift slickness from the head of his erection down over the length of it, and these were motions he remembered from times when he'd entertained himself but it wasn't his erection he was holding, it was Vorador's. Vorador who smelt of iron and smoke, Vorador whose heartbeat Janos could _feel_ ever since the curse.

The kiss ended as Vorador moved back long enough to bite at his ear, down to his neck, leaving him squeezing the erection in his hand harder while the hand trapped against the sheet clutched at nothing, his feet little better as they grasped for a hold on air that could not be granted. He wasn't able to fly here, he wasn't with someone who _could_ fly.

Between the grooming and the shock, he had honestly, genuinely thought he would come long before Vorador started showing signs but his human was shifting against him, moving into his every stroke and squeeze, and Janos found himself sliding a leg around Vorador's waist to let them move against each other more effectively. Where he'd been left simply breathless, unable to find any words for this, Vorador was panting and grumbling, rambling mostly nonsense but snippets coming through, every sound inflaming his own veins and making him ache with more than arousal, growls of "Too much, you're too damn much," and his name uttered like it were something between holy and obscene.

Vorador's come over his hands felt both surreal and yet utterly right at the same time, confusing his senses when they were already overloaded with sight and sound and smell, the taste of salt sweat and feel of slickness everywhere, his body feeling hotter than seemed possible in Uschtenheim. It felt impossible to take anymore but the precipice of orgasm seemed further away every time he moved closer towards it and he thought, honestly thought it was going to drive him mad, but Vorador was staring at him, eyes flicking only briefly to where both their hands were moving now between watching him, and that gaze left him more bare, more naked than he could ever be without the robes, and as he slammed his hips hard up against Vorador, finally coming over the human's chest, he sobbed with it for a moment, exhausted and shattered by the experience, and Vorador might have muttered something more but it was lost on him as sanity slipped away.

.

He might have been asleep for a moment; he might merely have been incoherent, but he only truly woke as smooth, cool material brushed across his overheated skin, clearing away the worst of the mess on his front. Opening his eyes showed a similarly cleaned Vorador using a corner of the top-sheet as a tool for this, moving slowly, as if savouring as menial a task as this. He had to look ruined - exhausted, hair in all directions from sweat, covered in a sticky mess with his own shed feathers and hair adding substance to it all.

Words didn't exist for the moment he caught Vorador's eyes so he didn't try to find them, allowed his human to help him to his feet so they could gather the ruined sheet's corners together and tied the whole thing into a bundle before throwing it across the room. "You'll have to sleep with me tonight," He said, nothing coming close to suiting the moment and his practical side demanding a voice instead.

"Would I have said no if you asked?" Vorador taunted before pulling back the blankets, looking at them with some puzzlement, and cursing. "How many sheets do you have?"

"I wasn't taking that risk," Janos replied to the first question, stripping out of his robes before getting into the bed with a satisfaction he'd scarcely thought possible without physical exercise and demonstrating how exactly the sheets worked; they weren't so complex in all honesty, one sheet tucked into the mattress, one loose beneath the main blankets, and usually one on top of them all though they'd seen to that particular sheet's uselessness tonight.

"Seems more like a challenge than a place to sleep," Vorador grumbled. "One sheet used to be enough back home."

"Your home was not Uschtenheim," Janos replied, trying not to be too amused by Vorador's near sulking at the cold, pulling the blankets up to their waists once Vorador had got in and relaxing into the mattress with an ease he'd not had since... God, he couldn't remember. The bonelessness of orgasm had left him near weak, and it was paradoxically exhilarating.

"I might have lied before," Vorador explained as he reached across, brushing Janos' hair back from his face. It was an easy gesture to relax into, and Janos found himself closing his eyes almost involuntarily, sleep tugging at his eyelids. "I said I didn't know but I think I was answering the wrong question."

"Hm?"

"I've always thought you beautiful," Vorador replied, repeating the brushing gesture for no practical reason. "Even when I first found you sprawled on the hill like fallout from some drunken vampire orgy."

Janos laughed at that analogy near breathlessly, catching the hand running through his hair in his own and squeezing lightly. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

"Huh." Vorador sounded dismissive, pulling their joined hands back from Janos' face and kissing the knuckle of Janos' thumb before letting them slip down to his hips. "You might not deserve this, but I do."

If Janos said anything further past that point, he would never recall it later, words seeming to lie meaningless between them. There were times for symbols and words and comparisons, and times when all of those fell short and all that mattered was listening to another person's voice while slipping into sleep.

.

Janos woke up to a callused hand stroking down his back, the quiet humming of some human tune, and he found himself yawning into the pillow with satisfaction, stretching with pleasure.

"You slept well," Vorador said with some amusement, fingertips tracing each bump of rib before skipping straight to hip-bone.

"Did you?" Janos asked, lifting his face from the pillows and wondering what exactly to do with the morning; he must have had plans, but for the life of him could not recall anything. Stranger still, he didn't mind not knowing.

"Not particularly," Vorador replied, hand moving back up into Janos' hair. "But I can't say that bothers me."

"What happens now?" Janos asked, still feeling almost awed by what had happened. Fate keeping the world balanced yet again, his life collapsing around him and the one good thing that had happened since the Hylden were banished had changed from a brief break from reality's harshness to a constant.

"I have a few ideas, most of which require the abuse of your grooming oil, but breakfast sounds good for now."

Janos laughed at the simplicity of the answer - the obviousness of it and the grounding in reality. But that was a human talent through and through, wasn't it? Humans had no need for flights of fancy and poetic answers. They could give them, certainly, but strip those decorations away and human culture was as simplistically rich as possible. "Just when I thought I knew you."

"The shallowest people in the world still have a few surprises up their sleeves," Vorador replied before sitting up and stretching, his stomach grumbling audibly. "Can you even get food in a place like this?"

"How do you think I survived before the blood thirst?" Janos asked before answering his own question, "You would be surprised what the ice will preserve. Food just takes longer to cook."

"Best get started then. I'm sure I'll find a way to keep myself amused during the wait."

Janos shivered pleasantly as fingers trailed up his spine, arched when they moved into his wings. "We can't just spend all day in bed."

"I see no reason why not, unless you're thinking of the kitchen table." Vorador's expression dropped a little of the wickedness then, though not much. "Nothing you could ever say would convince me you do not deserve a rest."

"What have the past hours been then?" Janos asked, wondering when he last attended to something close to his duties.

"Preparing to rest," Vorador replied. "General or not, you still need to relax."

"I should -"

"One day," Vorador interrupted, rolling over onto Janos' back and pressing his face into the wings before sniffing loudly, breath tickling Janos' feathers. "Mmm. One day, then we can start worrying about should and should not."

.

Janos lacked the strength and, truth be told, the desire to resist Vorador's suggestion any longer, although he was fairly certain it was unwise to prepare breakfast while naked. Vorador had positively revolted at the idea of putting on any clothing before he had eaten, was insistent on dragging Janos back into bed for another few minutes to explore their differences with fingers and tongue while the hearth took care of his meal. There was plenty more in life than food and sex but Vorador seemed wholly uninterested in the alternatives for now, would likely have refused to get dressed at all if Janos had not insisted breakfast be served elsewhere in the aerie; he had little energy for protesting but certainly drew the line at breakfast in bed. That was for the ill or the lazy, and he was neither.

Peculiar as it seemed, Janos found it far easier to observe Vorador outside the bedroom; with the sense of urgency gone it was easier to think over what had fled his mind before he could note it while they had been in bed. Vorador's arms particularly had his favour, their size and strength driving home the idea that his human was not weak or fragile despite the normal disparity in strength between their races.

.

The day passed relatively quickly, but blissfully despite that, allowed the two of them time enough to return to the hot springs and wash the sheet they had ruined the previous night after a proper grooming given that any tidying of his feathers had been negated moments after Vorador's first attempt by the activity they had followed it up with. Conversation drifted from topic to topic, family being a sore point for both due to loss and swiftly brushed aside in favour of friends, general interests, talking to each other about their skills and what they entailed. He could not help feeling a little as if he was learning Vorador all over again; that as a friend there had been an unspoken need to keep some details quiet but now there was an equally intense need to just... to say everything and have someone hear it, someone who might understand when they had never dared tell someone else.

The sun started to set as Vorador had his dinner - if it could honestly be called that, given it was mostly breakfast's leftovers with added spices and cooked for longer - but Janos held true to his word, kept silent about his duties until any signs of amber, red or purple had faded from the sky, leaving it black and strewn with a mist of stars. Light pollution never hid the majority of the stars out here as it did in the Citadel, allowed even the faintest to shine through.

As much as Vorador might have liked to hold the sun in place and demand it stay there until he was satisfied, he lacked that skill and Janos had to disappoint him by returning to the subject of duties. "We'll have to pack for tomorrow morning," Janos announced as he looked up at the sliver of sky visible between partially drawn curtains.

"Hm. You're thinking of returning to the Citadel, aren't you?"

"I need to reclaim the Reaver," Janos pointed out. "And I owe it to those who retained their sanity to oversee their burials, assuming the worst."

"Then they were not all hell-bent on maiming every human or vampire they could find?" Vorador asked, sounding a little surprised. "I was starting to think you as mad for wanting to return as you were when you left."

Janos' wings twitched a little at the memory and he closed his eyes for a moment, sighed to himself. "I left General Lemm fighting to save you. Or, rather, to see if you needed saving." He smirked despite himself at the thought. "I was not much of a hero that night, was I?"

"You did well enough. And if General Lemm earned the reputation she has amongst humans, I suspect she'll have done a damn sight better for herself than you might fear." Vorador rolled his shoulders with a yawn, night sapping his energy, then frowned. "You realise I cannot come with you."

Janos opened his mouth to protest before coming to a sudden realisation, one that had somehow, and bizarrely, slipped his mind; he could control his hunger, but it was not necessarily the case that the others would. Given the feeling of satiated thirst, they might not even want to. Taking Vorador back to the Citadel would be like leaving a lamb in the care of starving wolves. "I would protect you -"

"And alienate your own kind. Go, Janos. Do whatever duties you deem necessary. But don't ask me to come with you."

"Where would you stay?" Janos asked, tying one bag around his hips before bringing the other up across his chest. "I could be away some time. Weeks, perhaps months."

Vorador rolled his eyes as an alternative to outright stating the answer, and Janos nodded in return.

"If for any reason you should –"

"I'm not a child and have no plans on dying in your absence. If something happens, I know where to find you."


	8. Chapter 8

The flight was uneasy; he could not shake the feeling he was doing something wrong in leaving Vorador behind, but the human had insisted and moreover, was quite right to stay as far away from other vampires as possible.

Smoke still rose from the Citadel in steady peaks, the smoke of industry rather than accident, and Janos made to land in what had been his room after a careful look over the wards; while the Citadel might look normal, there was nothing to say he would still be safe or welcomed there. And while dropping his bags was a relief, he still kept an eye on his pike, ready to seize it should the presence he detected with instincts he'd learnt to trust better than his eyes opt to reveal itself.

Herself, rather, emerging from the shadows.

Sianne's talent with dark magic had survived their curse, it seemed. She raised one eyebrow, naturally elegant, corners of her lips twisted in amusement and making a grimace of the new scar across them. "You took your time coming back," she began. "I suppose I should thank you for keeping your promise. I'd have struggled finding a decent replacement General. Again." She tilted her head, frowning. "How did you survive?"

"A friend," Janos replied. "He assisted in my getting the hunger under control."

"Only you would consider yourself a threat," Sianne replied, smirking a little more, fangs flashing for a brief moment before she hid them away. Janos had the feeling those fangs had seen more usage than usual of recent. "How altruistic of this friend. What brought you back?"

"I'm still the guardian of the Reaver. And owed burials to my friends, if that was necessary."

"Most of the corpses have been dealt with, though I'm sure someone could bring you a shovel. I doubt any of the corpses will interest you given Samael is still alive. Making himself useful too, given the situation with the children."

Janos let out a breath he didn't recall holding, could not hide the slight swallow as he diverted the conversation away from his friend – and God, he had to know what happened to him, it was bad enough to have lost Shia – moved onto the other point of curiosity. "What situation would that be?"

"Well, we've had some… interesting developments," Sianne explained, scratching the back of her neck. "Those nine children who just coincidentally happened to be born moments after the Pillars were raised? They seem to be the last of our kind to _be_ born. No new pregnancies – even in the Orlaith family, and their women usually get pregnant from being sneezed at. Not to mention the fact the children are growing up at an unnatural speed, or that one of the boys has started blazing light." Janos couldn't help the expression he pulled, incredulant. Blazing light? "I wish there were some other way to describe it. We have to swaddle him despite his age - despite the fact he's built like a seven-year old. It's near blinding, and no one has explained it yet; no way to control it has been found and all we're left to do is clothe him thickly and hope for the best. At least it doesn't seem to be doing him any harm."

"What of the other children?" Janos questioned, unable to hide his curiosity even if the urge to look for Samael was growing until he could almost taste the need to do so on his tongue. "Aging aside, are they also different?"

"It varies. Some of them seem normal but there's something… odd, about some of them. As if… it's almost as if they can see and understand more than they should despite being children. They communicate like babes, all squeals and sobbing, but their eyes are… strange."

Janos nodded, promised himself that he would look in on those children later; but for the time being, he had to know what had happened to Samael and Shianna.

.

For a guardian of death, one who would have known about the passing of any of his friends, Samael still seemed overjoyed when Janos finally came across him in the nursery of children who would _never_ have been thought of as babes scarcely out of swaddling clothes. It didn't take much deduction to work out who amongst the children had been blazing light, given he was wrapped in robes thick as bandages and his face still seemed to glow through the small gap allowed for his eyes.

Even if the child looked more unusual than any he'd seen - all the children built unnaturally mature for their age - Janos couldn't help but scarcely notice; Samael's joy at the reunion was a shared emotion.

After the initial embrace Samael took Janos aside and sat him down. The hard news was not as hard as expected – Janos had thought the toll would be far worse, and while the list of their dead acquaintances was still far longer than that of their surviving friends, it was something to hold onto. Vorador had sparked hope, and the truth from Samael's lips seemed enough to rekindle it in full.

He had good news for once; all that was left was to reclaim the source of all original hope and to guard it with his life.

.

Shianna expected him. That was no surprise; she had long shown traits of her mother and Janos had suspected that as she blossomed into a woman her skills would develop with her.

"Good evening," he began on seeing her, unable to shake his own relief at her presence even if her stony expression removing any desire to placate her further with _how are you_ or _I'm glad you survived_. "May I -"

"It's outside," Shianna cut across. "Move the rocking chair. There's a loose floorboard hiding it."

"Thank you." The air seemed close, uneasy inside the room, so he headed outside to retrieve the Reaver, fought the urge to sigh in relief on seeing it again. The handle still sat comfortably in his hand, gave him the sense of there being a point to the suffering his kind had gone through in recent times; he'd never stopped believing, but having a focus for the belief made life so much easier.

"Anything else, while you're here?"

Janos thought, trying to think of something to say. He'd not seen her since her mother's death, not seen her move in here, and it was still difficult to think of her entirely as an adult. "I'm sorry for what happened to your mother."

Something shifted in her face; not quite a softening, more an understanding than anything else. "I can not deny that I thought about throwing the damned sword into the ravine more than once," she began, glaring at the focus of her frustrations. "But it was her decision to die for it."

Janos knew better than to take that as forgiveness, but it was a step in the right direction.

.

As the children grew, and they did grow so eerily fast, it became more and more evident that their abilities paralleled those of the Pillars; new magic grew with them, magic that only they seemed able to wield, powers that would not ordinarily have been imagined. But for all it should have been frightening, there was a hope blossoming now at long last, the same hope that had seemed stolen when their victory over the Hylden was tainted by their curse. God might not be speaking but for all his anger at the curse, his pleasure at having the Hylden swept from the land could be seen in the very earth itself; there was life now where there had been barren wastelands and desert, lush greenery outside the sickly heat of the forests; wildlife seemed to be blooming and those who had survived to see all this were at last starting to feel something close to victory, something close to justification of their suffering. They could not bear children to share the slowly rising feeling of relief and happiness, but the sense of new life was there regardless.

The children of the Pillars appeared to have more to do with this than anyone had expected. Their happiness seemed tied into the land itself, a blessing when the time and dimension-oriented children grew close, a curse whenever the energist's distress at his condition heightened. They were all different from other vampires, but the energist in particular was physically marked as different.

.

Rebuilding the Citadel was an easier task than one might have expected given the human village had been cleared out and abandoned; rather than stripping the forest or quarry, wood and stone could be obtained pre-prepared by dismantling the emptied houses.

And while rebuilding was a damn sight better than waging war, Janos still found himself wishing once in a while to return to books and studies; maybe even learn a little more about how the ritual to raise the Pillars had worked, or to start identifying the root cause of their curse. It was a long shot, but if it was the _right_ sort of curse – and how bizarre, to be thinking of curses in terms of right and wrong – then it could be remedied, perhaps even lifted with the right sacrifices. The elders had mostly died in the original massacres, leaving the Citadel under something close to martial law, so it would be up to Janos and Sianne to organise any official research into the curse; if somehow the Hylden had persuaded God to damn them, there had to be a way to appease him once more.

Even if his priorities lay in helping with the repairs and restoration of the Citadel, assisting in the restoration of sanctity to the abandoned forges of their elders and to the temple before its sealing, Janos still found himself making time to study the curse. Stolen minutes at the end of a day's labour, looking over scraps of prophecy and what little notes on Hylden magic they had. Without the Hylden to question or watch, tracking what they had done was nigh-on impossible, but finding a place to start was a task in and of itself, especially given the way night seemed to demand a wandering imagination rather than something logical and structured.

It was strange to think of his home in Uschtenheim as occupied, whenever his mind strayed to ice and fire and something other than the settling dust of the Citadel. His thoughts often casually wandered in that direction, though he'd scarcely given thought to how Vorador was doing – not out of callousness or because he didn't care, but purely because he had assumed Vorador could take care of himself. When he thought of Vorador in Uschtenheim he pictured the human hunting deer in the surrounding forests, or mountain goats, perhaps even retrieving frozen meat from Janos' stores if he'd discovered them. The possibility of disaster simply didn't occur to him, perhaps because his thoughts would only normally wander over to Vorador when a more obscene side of his nature craved satisfaction shortly before he drifted off to sleep.

.

It was likely this thinking of Vorador as quite safe and secure in Uschtenheim that made it such an alarming if pleasant surprise when the human made an abrupt return to his life. Janos had frowned at the out of place stone on his balcony floor, kneeling to pick it up before turning it over in his hands, recognising the colour and structure quickly; this was rock from Uschtenheim's springs. But where had it -

Guessing quickly how the rock had ended up there, Janos straightened up and looked out over the balcony's edge. No signs of life yet, but he knew different, kept his eyes locked on the forest before biting his tongue and smiling. The human village might have been abandoned and left to ruin, but it had never been fully demolished; with a quick leap and flap of his wings, Janos took to the skies and headed for a too familiar, long unvisited hill.

Vorador wasn't exactly stealthy but didn't need to be; there were strict regulations about attacking humans visiting the area because as much as repercussions were bound to happen over feeding, setting out a no-go area would outright provoke another war. Still, not everyone obeyed the rules, and Janos could not help feeling a little unsettled at the human's lack of subtlety.

"I did not think Uschtenheim could have a winter," Vorador announced, enough furs scattered across the floor that Janos suspected he must have looked like a bizarre wild animal when wearing them for his travels. "I think I have the right to call you insane for living there voluntarily."

Janos smirked, unable to hide the slightly smug pleasure of being able to cope with the cold where his human friend could not, before settling down on the fur-covered floor given the bench had long been removed for repairs in the Citadel. "Only if I can share the right, given you decided against moving back to an area occupied by humans."

Vorador snorted in turn before joining Janos on the floor and, forgoing any attempts at seduction, shoving him back to lie down on the furs. "I'm not moving in yet. Don't think I've missed the fact the rest of your kind could care less about whose necks they sink their fangs into." What had been a relatively stony expression turned into a grin as Vorador nipped at Janos' lips. "It's been too long since I slept in a bed you warmed."

Janos laughed despite himself, fidgeting to get his wings comfortable before spreading his legs, tensing his thighs against Vorador's waist as the human moved to lie on top of him. "I thought you would have found others in my absence."

"That I did," Vorador replied, voice level and honest, lips travelling down the nape of Janos' neck as clever fingers parted robes and drew down trousers. "Even so. A warm body is not always enough."

There were words hidden in that sentence and Vorador's eyes that could not be spoken with ease, and Janos let them pass by, replied with a press of his lips once Vorador's own were again within range. Vorador was not his; he was not Vorador's; but for all the lack of possessiveness, they still needed one another. He could spend the night here.

.

No one commented on his absence.

As no one wished to discuss feeding.

.

Vorador's visit could only be brief, a stop on the way to Freeport where for all the wet weather at least it was consistent in mildness, but it helped secure the feeling that the world was settling down around him. Regardless of their unfortunate position as prey humans seemed to be thriving, traffic between Freeport and Meridian a near constant and all the more protected for it, human guards lining the tracks. And that was an education in and of itself; watching trade expand the range of foodstuffs humans ate, leading Janos to wonder when he had last cooked anything; last tasted anything other than blood. It was strange to know what other foods tasted like and still not miss them, even those that had been his favourites.

Turning his thoughts towards blood and the thirst did return his thoughts to the curse and its study; given its nature, the way it ran through and through with a crippling effect normal hunger never managed, it _felt_ like a physical force. He had to find out somehow.

.

Samael disagreed; likely because he had always been deeply rooted in reality and the present, though perhaps his concerns were also fired by their surroundings, the memories associated with them. He had not asked for him to come here, wondered to himself why his friend had followed; the Pillars were a symbol of hope but their raising still held a great feeling of loss and he knew full well who felt it worse. "You should not go."

"I've read Kylian's notes until they turned transparent. It had nothing to do with us, and Meridian is inaccessible. There has to be something left behind."

"And the danger?"

Janos shook his head. "We heal faster than ever before. I'm not afraid of the corruption underneath."

"That is not what I meant," Samael corrected, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to know what the Hylden did to us?"

"I have to," Janos replied, turning his back to the cliff's edge and looking at the view. Nothing conspicuous stood out, but he knew full well the direction he was facing and what laid in its path.

He could not head off yet; had responsibilities here still. But Avernus waited.

.

While near every waking moment was devoted to helping in the general running of the Citadel, be it through construction work or helping the nine learn to use magic, the burning urge to leave, to look for the cause of their problems grew with each passing day. It itched beneath his skin, the desire to do something; itched more every time he saw someone coming in with the subtle signs of a hunt. No one wore blood stains with pride, and even those who managed to stay clean always had something haunted in their eyes to counter the flush in their skin.

The fact that adult vampires were struggling with the hunt only made the children worse, unable to cope with their own thirsts when it was so clear that their elders disapproved despite the necessity of satiating the hunger.

In retrospect, the eventual outcome was inevitable; still, when the energy guardian tired of his constant burning, of his status as an outcast in his own mind even amongst his siblings by circumstance, and threw himself on his spear, there was no one who could have claimed to expect it. Worse still, it was not an adult who discovered the suicide first, but Samael's protégé, the death guardian.

Janos wished with all his might he could recall the fallen energy guardian's name, wished he knew anything of the boy aside from his role and talents, but he did not; all he knew was that he'd finally stopped blazing light.

.

Whatever depression had hit the boy seemed to have spread thickly amongst the other guardians, each child seeming affected by something even deeper than mourning; it was as if his death was near contagious, every mentor struggling to prevent their protégés from following in his example, and not all as successful as one might wish.

The death guardian had seen his friend leave the world and followed scarce moments after, the balance guardian seeming to sense this and joining him. After that it had been hellish and all the children had to be put under constant watch, the dimension and time guardians in particular given both had attempted and both had been caught before they could fall on their spears.

But it was the conflict guardian that Janos had not seen coming, and felt uneasiest on discovering; there were people born to mourn their losses, and those who seemed immune to sorrow.

"Hannah killed herself," Sianne stated, quite plainly and simply. "That selfish, selfish little girl killed herself." Her shoulders stiffened and Janos did not follow, feeling her grief was for herself to express as she wished, and if she had no interest in showing it around him he would not make her do so.

It had not escaped Janos' notice that Hannah had been almost a daughter to Sianne; he knew his fellow General had taken the girl's training to heart even if she had been subtle in hiding her feelings. Sianne had shown no interest in men even before the curse rendered her sterile and likely would never have been a mother by choice, but after being forced to take the girl under her wing due to the need for a conflict guardian to carry the skills her Pillar desired, she had grown attached.

.

Stopping just short of being abrupt, Janos made it clear to Sianne that he could not and would not be detained any longer; with the Hylden gone and the increased durability their curse offered, Avernus did not pose the same threat it had in years past. He knew he would not be away long; he had to look, had to know. With so few children left and no signs of any more to follow, and the knowledge that despite their increased ability to heal and apparent immunity to disease they could still die, the outlook was dark.

Packing light and resisting the urge to overload on weaponry, the instinct to avoid Avernus ingrained into his system from the years of it having been lost, Janos gathered himself and headed for the long lost city.

.

The humans had yet to reclaim this part of the world for themselves, and Janos was unsurprised; the western reaches of Nosgoth had been ravaged by the war and Hylden presence, and while several battles had focused on the attempted reclaiming of Avernus during the war, it would have been an outright lie to claim that anyone had wanted to possess the cathedral built there. Avernus was certainly strong against outside attacks, but something wrong had brewed within that place long before it ever became a strategic point for vampires or Hylden. Originally constructed by humans for their own god or gods on ground no vampire would have flown near voluntarily, even before war had ravaged the area and left it temporarily abandoned there had been a sinister air to the place.

Typical that the Hylden had thrived within, and Janos set to exploring the ruins, ever mindful of falling masonry regardless of his apparent invulnerability, seeking out what little had been left behind by Hylden scribes and artists and trying to concentrate despite the dark magic of the place feeling like a physical taint on his skin.

Most was as he'd expected; exaggerations and lies, with some uncomfortable truths hidden in between the propaganda, murals often depicting violence against his race with an unhealthy joy, but there were few new facts hidden here. Most were retellings of the war, which while interesting to see from the other side's point of view, were not what he was looking for.

.

He had to dig long and dig deep, searching through subterranean tunnels he'd never, ever have visited by choice, before he finally came across the newest set of murals; largely unfinished, rushed works, left for history at the request of their own seers. After the initial panic he made himself study the images again before rereading the script printed along the bottom of the mural, and rereading once more when he refused to believe his eyes or his gut telling him it had to be the truth.

He managed to return to the surface at least before swearing aloud and sobbing as he rested against one of the fractured columns, slamming his fist uselessly into the floor.

Any bodily curse could be lifted; any area, any physical source could be purged and cleansed in the end, regardless of difficulty. Sometimes it was impractical, but never impossible.

A soul curse was rooted in a world where time did not exist. It was eternal.

The Hylden had struck at something they did not truly believe in and they'd struck with force. The only way to undo it would require undoing part of time itself, and with the time guardian still unsettled by the actions of his brethren, he had only one other person to go to who might have some concept of how one could undo time without destroying it.

.

Shianna's answer was swift enough, her eyes already showing she expected to be unsettled by his question before he opened his mouth, as if she'd almost seen his future and did not wish to look any further, and on being asked about the curse her eyes widened for a moment before she stepped back away from him, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

"Shianna -" he began, wanting to explain, to apologise somehow for the pressure he had put her under as he used to apologise to her mother.

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, almost shaking with a fear that similarly affected him - seers did not fear, they knew, and they regretted, but they did not fear - before walking to the shack's entrance, her hand gripping its frame tightly as if to steady herself. "I can't help you."

"Then there is no cure?"

"Not yet," she said before stiffening again, demanding, "Do not ask me again," and closing the door behind her tight, waving Janos off with a gesture he hadn't seen since Shia's death; a Hylden gesture.

Janos fought the turn in his stomach at the realisation it was a gesture he missed.


	9. Chapter 9

On returning to the Citadel Janos barely had time to settle before Sianne announced abruptly that he was to join her and the surviving elders for a meeting. That in itself was unsurprising, given that the energy guardian's death had been enough to provoke calls and now six of the guardians had taken their lives; apparently the time guardian had managed to end theirs during Janos' absence despite the constant watch, and the mentalist had followed shortly after. The remaining three were near inconsolable, the dimension guardian in particular mourning heavily after losing the time guardian, but at least the states and nature guardians had been friends long enough to have each other to lean on.

No one had entirely expected to find successors despite the legends surrounding the Pillars and their need to be served; more alarming had been that when the remaining children sensed their new brethren, they were human. A while yet before the replacements could be found in full - the energy guardian aside, given she would have stood out regardless given she followed in her predecessor's footsteps by blazing light, and only her mother's love and the human association of light with holiness had left her safe - but once the balance guardian was found, wandering around the Pillars as if she had longed to be found, most of the others were sought out with ease even if the death guardian remained stubbornly hidden from sight. Still, the situation was alarming; without vampire successors to keep the Pillars safe and to secure the Hylden banishment it seemed the situation could quickly become out of hand; human lives were so often transient and given the way every last member of the Circle of Nine had _felt_ their companions' passing, there was no way to maintain stability with mortal fragility.

Somehow they were going to have to ensure the extension of the humans' lives given it was uncertain that the unusual abilities the Pillars bestowed would extend to immortality even if they did seem to protect against illness, but the traditional necromantic methods would be unsuccessful - raising humans as skeletons or souls trapped by artificial means would cost either their minds or their loyalty. The only solution seemed to be passing on the curse; somehow hiding them from the truth of the Wheel and making immortality _appeal_ to the guardians.

Of course, all that meant having to find a way to pass on the curse, and with the Hylden gone, Shianna uninterested in responding, there was only one person around with enough knowledge of curses and death to give them the answer they needed.

.

Sianne and the surviving elders all knew Samael well enough; hard to avoid him given his abilities and his having been married to Shia, but he still made most of them uncomfortable. Sianne had no issues with him, given she, like Janos, was as familiar with death as one could be without exposure to the spirit realm.

Janos still felt a little guilty that it was Sianne, not him, who was the only person to look thoroughly comfortable as Samael explained the exact details of the ritual necessary to pass on the curse, sparing no detail about the violence involved.

Samael had a faint smirk, clearly amused by the reactions of those around him to the necessity of a necromantic ritual. Most of those here had been happy enough to allow the temporary seizure of Hylden souls, preventing them passing on into the underworld so that the souls caught had no escape from being questioned; apply that same reasoning, necessity, to human or vampire souls? Suddenly what had previously been an easy choice seemed harder.

Janos and Sianne backed Samael's decision, the others following after begrudgingly, but the question of who would be turned first had no answer yet. Choosing the children would be foolish - no matter that Samael was an expert in these matters, this was still the first time something like this had been attempted and the whole point was to _prevent_ further deaths among the children.

He ought not to even consider it - if something went wrong, if mistakes were made...

Still, it was that or kidnapping an innocent, and with Vorador he could at least ask and know the blacksmith would give him an honest answer.

.

Vorador's home in Freeport was a little amusing in its mixture of the modest and the opulent, Vorador's practical streak showing in some of the decor, his access to furs and silks through the port showing in the rest, and Janos found himself having to go against the rules of etiquette by sitting on the dinner table given he couldn't get comfortable in the high-backed chairs.

"Just to repeat; you're _asking_ me if I would like to be immortal?"

"It would be dangerous and we would have to kill you before bringing you back -"

Vorador laughed before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table and propping his head up. "Of course I want to volunteer. You honestly don't understand humans, do you?"

Janos looked at Vorador, tried not to frown in concerned disbelief. "And if mistakes were made -"

"Men in my family die young," Vorador replied with a shrug. "As a human I'm going to die one way or another. I've watched you drink blood and I'm about the only person who trusts your kind enough to allow you near my throat. If you want to spend another few months or years wittering on about the pros and cons of the idea and how sure is sure enough then don't accept my volunteering, but I know a damn sight more about your kind than most humans thanks to hands-on experience and after seeing what it can do I trust your magic. I believe your kind have the ability to pull off this curse-passing feat and when will you learn to listen to my opinion once in a while when it's saved you before?"

Janos had no true reply to that, given the truth of it. "You know why I'd rather you were not the first, don't you?"

"If being with you meant being mollycoddled for the rest of my life then it wouldn't be a sacrifice I was willing to make," Vorador replied. "I'm human. I'm as transient as any mortal and if there is a possibility I'll be immortal alongside you rather than slowly rotting while you stand around looking statuesque then it is a possibility I'd prefer to take my chances with."

.

Vorador's stubbornness seemed determined to win out over any reasoning Janos put forward and the elders were only too keen for someone to conduct the 'experiment' on. Samael was far more supportive, offering advice and guarding both through the process in so far as anyone could assume it worked. Initially Janos had wanted Samael to be Vorador's sire, but both had been insistent he should take on the task; Samael because he was the only person alive with the skill to retrieve a sire from the underworld if something went wrong, Vorador because he would not trust any other vampire to kill him.

Janos wondered why he did not shake throughout the ceremony; even though he clutched the dagger he would be using with a death-like grip, he was strangely still. On some level he trusted in what he was doing - trusted Samael's words and the authenticity of the ritual - but not to a degree that would warrant his sense of calm.

Perhaps history was on their side in this; wanted Vorador's life changed, either into permanent death or into a new form of vampirism.

Janos wished he could trust history as much as he trusted in the Reaver and the God who no longer spoke to his kind.

Kneeling over Vorador with the dagger he watched carefully for any "No", any survival instinct kicking in that would make his human change his mind, almost wished that Vorador would even if it had taken days to accept that his human was going to be the first fledgling of their race.

Nothing. Steady.

Janos sliced across his own wrists before pushing the blood-slickened blade into Vorador's throat, forced strength into his hand as he pulled it across to make sure that the infection of Vorador's blood with his own was thorough and the necessary death came swift, and it was the first kill since... well, his _first_ kill, to have ever made him nauseous. Elders be damned, he took Vorador's right hand and held it tight, waiting for the pulse to fade, and wondered what aspect of the damned ritual was making him shake so much.

Looking to Samael for guidance, Janos started whispering the words of the ritual as swiftly as he could, needing Vorador's soul to be in the underworld for it to be a success but knowing too much time could see it lost like all the other murdered souls that were never pulled into God's wheel, felt himself grow dizzy with more than light-headedness before his body seemed to fall away beneath him as the world slipped into hues of blue and green, twisting around him into something still recognisable but _wrong_. The spirit realm...

Feeling the incantation's strength fading slowly as he moved, Janos looked around hastily in search of Vorador's soul, wondering how he would know it for what it was, all the hazy outlines of bodies seeming similar when one seemed to call out to him. No words - no scents, no senses in this world - but even so, somehow he _knew_ the particular shade he was heading towards was that of his human, rooted to the spot as if trapped.

Recognising what was happening on some level deeper than sense, Janos held out his arms to take Vorador's soul into his, barely knowing what would happen if they touched but eager to leave the eerie madness of this realm, careful not to look too closely at the skeletal structures that made up his own body as he shifted, and then, a moment, and they touched.

Whatever senses were missing in this world seemed replaced by something more than any mortal body could have taken, the connection more than quenched thirst, more than anything the physical realm had to offer, Vorador inside _him_, not just his body, not just his mind, but _everything_ his, and he could see everything of Vorador. More than that he saw himself through Vorador's eyes, saw how he was to Vorador, even now, even now that he was Vorador's murderer and saviour, and he locked onto that and held tight to it even as Samael's words rang loudly in his ear, pulling him out into the material realm to where he was bent at Vorador's side, the human who was no longer human clawing at the healing wound on his neck and gasping for breath. "We did it," He half-laughed, still dizzy with what that other world had shown, and blank to anyone else in the room as Vorador grabbed him and kissed him.

Vorador kissed him and kissed him until he was breathless, not seeming to register the need for air, and Janos traced a claw along the fine line of Vorador's death scar as his fledgling - _his fledgling_ \- said, "Thank you for taking me back."

.

It took some time before returning to any sort of protocol was bearable, Janos barely able to believe he'd watched Vorador die and brought him back within a matter of... well, it was hard to say. It had felt like minutes; yet the others said it had been instantaneous. It was hard to comprehend the spiritual world; hard to comprehend a place where time stood still but one could still be pulled from into a world _with_ time.

Finally having his word while the others took Vorador aside to assess his health, Samael swiftly expressed his displeasure despite the results. "You put too much of yourself into him. I warned you, one touch and pull back."

"It felt -"

"I know how it feels," Samael interrupted. "If you don't pull back, you blend. You lose yourself and your identity and become one more lost soul caught in the spirit realm. You can't afford to do that every time you make a fledgling of someone you care for."

"It was my first attempt," Janos reminded, biting back any query as to how Samael would have reacted had he been in Janos' place and Shia in Vorador's, "And I don't plan on repeating the experience. We have our first fledgling. It was a test."

"... He's dead," spoke the nurse, her hands shaking as she pulled them back from Vorador's chest. For a dead man, he appeared to be standing up fine, and seemed to be as perplexed by the announcement as everyone else.

"I don't think so," Vorador replied, grinning, but no, the nurse still looked utterly terrified, backing away from him like an infectious thing.

Samael blinked, stepping away from Janos and walking up to Vorador, pressing his own hand over Vorador's chest. "Nurse, I assure you this man has a heart beat."

"He isn't actually breathing," She insisted, which seemed just as odd a declaration given that Vorador's chest was visibly moving in and out with what certainly _looked_ like breaths. "It's a reflex action, his lungs aren't working normally. If any of you knew a damn about sensing insides you would _see_ that!" She declared, before edging towards the door. "I'm having nothing to do with this. Watch his temperature, he'll match the room soon enough. This is - this is wrong -"

Samael remained quiet, looking disturbed by something more than the nurse's words, but it was only when they had privacy once more he let both Janos and Vorador know what he had seen and not wished to discuss in public.

Samael's necromantic skills had been born of his ability to see only the dead; he was blind to all save those who had died but not yet crossed into the spirit realm.

And Vorador's spirit, for all its attachment to his body, was still visible.

.

For all the nurse's publicly voiced concerns and the fact that, even though he remained animate, Vorador seemed to be showing fewer and fewer typical signs of life, the elders seized the chance to pass on vampirism and swiftly arranged for a simple protocol; any child who reached fifteen would be turned. This in itself was no small task, given one or two of the older children had near adopted their younger comrades and were concerned about the risks involved in turning, but it was a necessity; human life was too fragile to render them stable guardians even with the Pillars assisting through their unnatural interference with the children's health - it had not escaped notice how the children never fell ill even when the human children were accidentally exposed to conditions that would normally leave their kind sickly.

Vorador's position as the first vampire to be made left him vulnerable to other oddities that the turning had brought, most of them unexpected; Samael had prepared them for the aversion to sunlight, said it was common to all creatures brought back from the dead, but so many additional problems seemed to rise over time. His thirst seemed stronger than theirs, and more vital for his survival; his pulse seemed to be slowing to a complete stop and his skin paling with it; but the most alarming change made itself evident as the seasons shifted from spring into summer, bringing rainfall with them.

.

Janos opened the door to the infirmary, winced at the tear-streaks of pink, burnt-looking flesh marring his fledgling's face and arms. "What happened to you?"

"The storm," Vorador replied, sounding somewhere between stunned and on the verge of furious, holding up his left hand to show a particularly burnt-looking ring finger. "Water burns my skin now, apparently. I get to spend the rest of my immortal life afraid of the weather."

"It could be worse," Janos offered as small comfort, "You might have found out after diving into a lake."

"_Good God_," Vorador grunted, "I think you managed to make this sound even worse. And if my clothes get filthy?"

Janos thought for a moment, the options coming to mind surprisingly quickly. "Either I wash them for you, or we replace them with leather. Clothes we can clean with oil - that doesn't burn your skin yet, does it?"

That thought seemed to distract Vorador from his fury just a little while he contemplated the last time he'd handled oil; there certainly had been no burning then. "I can't say I'm looking forward to testing what else burns my skin, but..." Vorador trailed off before looking at his arm. "At least I seem to heal faster now."

.

Healing faster might be advantageous, but it was still no ideal. Travelling alone to hunt always had its dangers, and while Janos had been lucky so far in picking off those who were unable to see him coming due to his ability to swoop in from flight, Vorador's increasingly pale skin alongside that of the converted children meant that he was becoming as physically separate from humans as his own kind.

Vorador gritted his teeth, pulling the spiked arrow a human had left him with as a souvenir of his latest hunting trip from his flesh, admired the closing wound. "Thankfully I can run a damn sight faster than a man in armour," he announced, dark humour tinting his voice as Janos picked up the arrow and studied its edges. "Even if it did mean having to hide in the damn forest for an age until the bastard turned his back. At least his blood made up for the wound."

Janos only vaguely acknowledged Vorador's words, distracted by the arrow and the possibility of death or torture; Vorador's kind could not hide as easily as his own, not without training. For all their strength and healing ability, without training they were little more than human, and similarly vulnerable. They needed an advantage.

Janos guided Vorador to lie back against the bed, knelt over him to clean what little was left of the wound with his tongue, and wondered what would happen if he attempted to teach vampiric magic to his fledgling. It seemed entirely possible now that Vorador's soul was measurably part vampiric; no one truly knew what enabled vampires to use one kind of magic and humans another, or why both races struggled to grasp the other's abilities.

.

Vorador seemed irritated by the interruption to whatever schedule it was that he had been following, but arrived regardless of that irritation, watched with a frown as Janos set out the four bowls as tradition demanded; one of soil, one of water, one filled with small, lit candles and the last empty.

Vorador knew full well why he had been summoned, but still needed a little guidance. "Eventually anyone can learn to command all the elements, but everyone has their own affinity. Have you ever used magic before?"

Vorador's expression said more than words ever could. That was a little discomforting; he could not recall the last time he had taught magic from scratch.

"There are better teachers than I for beginners but if we start with the simplest summoning this should work fine," Janos explained, a little more to reassure himself than to familiarise Vorador with the process, taking his fledgling's hands and holding them over the bowl of soil. "Now try as best as you can to pull the soil into your hands without touching it. Try not to think about what you're doing - just act as if you have a second, invisible pair of hands to do it for you."

Vorador snorted but did as asked; no reaction, which could mean anything for now - could mean that he had no earth affinity, or no affinity with vampire magic at all. "What now?"

Janos thought for a moment; normally he would try water next, but given Vorador had developed the most extreme allergy imaginable to it and ought to be inheriting his abilities at least in part through being a fledgling, it seemed wiser to start with Janos' strongest ability. Vorador seemed a little confused at being brought in front of an empty ball, but explaining this task was reasonably straight forward and a little easier to imagine - or so Janos thought, anyway, given it had always been his strength. "Slightly different this time; try and capture air between your hands. The shape does not matter too much - tornadoes and spirals work for some people, storm-like balls for others; just... try." He was too tired for this, really, weary of constant supervision from those who had not heeded Samael when the necromancer had said Janos' soul was firmly connected up with his body and not likely to vacate the premises of its own accord anytime soon.

At least this time there was something a little closer to success; the candles flickered and there was a definite breeze in the room. Not as strong an affinity as Janos' had been, but a measurable one nonetheless; comparable to Janos' own affinity with water. Earth and fire were never his strengths though he could command both on demand; rare was the occasion he actively chose to do so. Part of him wondered how much of affinity was determined by chance and how much by upbringing; Janos had been brought up in the mountains, surrounded by winds and ice, so his affinity seemed logical from that point of view.

A good job he never let himself slip too deeply into thought, given that Vorador seemed barely to glance at the candles, tilting one of his hands slightly towards them as if to grasp the flames, when they positively fireballed; it was barely within Janos' ability to contain the blast before it scorched him or his fledgling, though the bowl's edges were ruined. A good job any bowls could be used for this, that it was only having something to focus on that mattered.

"I think we've found your strength," Janos replied, amused, before remembering fire magic was generally Sianne's area of expertise. Well, they would either get on like a house on... fire, or try to kill each other, and Janos was willing to step between them if the latter option seemed more likely. At least it would give her a chance to develop patience before being asked to instruct the children in fire magic; humans did not quite seem to have elemental affinities as vampires did, more a general grasp of all, but given their powers and the fact they would need these skills for when they were turned it would have been senseless to leave them without proper instruction in any area instead of focusing on one skill over another.


	10. Chapter 10

For all his initial grumblings, Vorador took to magic like a fish to water, picking up most of the basics easily even if he was proving, if not quite to the same degree as Jayne once had, to struggle with teleportation. Regardless of that difficulty his position as the first of his kind meant he was also the first of them, once he'd learnt to handle magic properly, to learn a skill unique to them; and that by accident. Janos had been a little alarmed during a sparring session to hear Vorador growl an expletive before following it up with something even more obscene as Janos knelt to retrieve Vorador's sword from where it had clattered beneath a table. And as alarmed as he had been, Vorador was even more alarmed to find that he'd said the words without moving his lips.

It took some practise to master, but whatever this ability was, it could travel far further than words; and after Vorador mockingly referred to it as whispering despite it often being louder and more potent than speech the nickname stuck. All the turned children picked up Whispering with ease, and Janos seemed to have an unexpected talent for it, but generally speaking it seemed to be a struggle for the rest of his kind; something for the mades to hold as their own.

.

Of the guardians, three had yet to be turned; Annabelle, the conflict guardian, given she had shown signs of being simple despite her position as a Pillar guardian and her immaturity as a result making most uncomfortable with turning her until she felt as mature as the others had been when turned. Mortanius and Moebius too had yet to be turned, Mortanius because it had taken so damn long to find him and the elders wanted him educated in full before being turned, and Moebius simply because he was the third time streamer; his vampire predecessor having killed himself, and the made having... well, it had been called an accident, but Janos suspected the boy had walked outside in broad daylight fully aware of what he was doing.

Everyone had taken a liking to Mortanius. The boy was smart, and straightforward, did not enjoy hiding his stories in riddles as so many of the other children did, even if they did treat it as a game amongst themselves. Strange to see humans, mades and vampires alongside each other, although Moebius did show obvious signs of anxiety with regards to being surrounded by those who would normally prey on his kind. Still, it was unavoidable that the situation would be imperfect, and those who looked after the guardians were handling the finer details as best as Janos could tell.

Moebius provoked... unsettled feelings. Mortanius might be skilled in the darker, more morbid arts, but Moebius' growing up without shaking his feelings of anxiety despite months, years of going without being attacked, did seem to upset the balance a little.

Even Samael finally had something to say, towards the balance guardian's fifteenth birthday and it being time for his turning. "Does something about Moebius strike you as unusual?"

"The boy is a time streamer. I wouldn't will that on anyone."

"Even so," Samael replied, sounding thoughtful. "Earlier I thought I heard him talking outside the temple but he insisted he hadn't spoken. You will tell me of any new developments, won't you?"

"Certainly."

"I hope he doesn't follow in his predecessor's footsteps," Samael murmured, before touching the wall, finding his bearings quickly. "I'll ask the same of Mortanius. They seem to get along despite the age difference."

.

Janos did not envy those who had to teach the humans of their religion; with God fallen silent it was not a simple matter of preparing children for their one conversation with God and leaving them thereafter to attend Mass and ask the priests if a crisis of faith did happen. Worse was trying to stop the curse from sounding _like_ a curse - the need to hunt for blood meant there was an unavoidable taint, but trying to explain the Wheel without making immortality seem equally tainted was a struggle.

It was more peculiar to see the variety of children summoned by the Pillars; gender seemed to play no part in the choice, nor the sort of family a child was born into or where they were born. There was a child here, the mentalist, if he recalled correctly, brought all the way from Coorhagen; seeking her out had been a nightmare given her parents had tried to hide her up in the mountains despite not being well equipped for the cold. Had they not found the family swiftly enough the girl might have died of hypothermia before even becoming fully aware of her ability. The Pillars rendered one stronger than usual, but not immortal.

He did not like how they had to take the children by force - wished there was another way, something that would traumatise them less. Given the choice he would have spoken out against what were, effectively, kidnappings; but without the education vampires could give the children coped even _less_. On some level the guardians in the Circle of Nine were drawn to one another and separation seemed to have a negative effect; the mentalist girl in particular had a power that led to all her fellow guardians feeling her anxiety even from so great a distance.

Still, he wasn't short on friends to discuss his worries with; Vorador had become something of a voice of authority given his position as the first made and the only human who had turned entirely voluntarily, while Sianne and Samael both had plenty to say about the situation of their own kind. Gaining a balanced view of the situation was so much easier with sources on both sides, and Janos appreciated the strength of the various arguments.

.

Samael was not given to having guests often, seemed to find their presence a little irritating without Shia's natural talent for smoothing conversation guiding things along, but he still had a fondness for inviting Janos around. It was a fondness Janos appreciated and often returned, disliking the idea of only using his rooms for work and sex, enjoying the chance to socialise a little. He kept contact with others, yes, but Samael was a good friend and deserved the extra attention.

This night he seemed reticent despite having extended the invitation; lost in thought, but Janos would not fill the gaps in conversation with idle chatter, knew full well Samael would say whatever was on his mind eventually, if he desired.

"Do you miss the Hylden?" Samael asked at last, quietly but not so quiet that Janos could misinterpret the question.

"Almost." It was the closest to an honest answer he could give - he missed certain parts of their culture, certain gestures that he knew would be lost in time, but he had no illusions about what the Hylden had been. He had loathed the war and knew full well God's refusal to speak since the curse was their fault, same as their sterility and the blood thirst. Only the Hylden would be vicious enough to cause so much suffering even in their absence.

"There will be other wars. We were not so different from the Hylden once, same as our made children are not so different from their human brethren." Janos remained quiet, sensing through the familiarity of old friendship that Samael was not yet through. "Vorador will change, as will all of them. Slowly. Over time. They'll become more like us." Samael tilted his head towards Janos, never seeing but knowing the gestures he made well enough. "Why is that no comfort?"

Janos near bit his lip through on realising his own stupidity in not having worked out the reason for Samael's seemingly strange mood, clasped a hand over his friend's in solidarity. Preparations for the anniversary of the Pillars' raising were being made, and while he himself felt a strange relief at the upcoming event, he knew it only celebrated a miserable anniversary for his friend.

Samael said nothing more for the longest time, quiet in his grief and not a man who needed much comfort, but finally flinched violently before getting up from his seat and frowning. "We should go, Janos. There's been an accident."

.

Samael, as ever, had been quite right; Mortanius knelt by the balance guardian's broken body, Moebius sitting on the steps nearby, both visibly shaken and Moebius in particular unable or unwilling to speak.

Mortanius shook his head. "He was supposed to turn today," he said before looking up at his mentor. "If I had known he was going to -"

Moebius was still quiet, looking down at the balance guardian's crumpled, wrong-angled body, eyes unreadable. Given he had yet to talk no one knew if he had seen the accident though his expression looked pained enough to suggest it, and Janos placed one hand on the time-streamer's shoulder, squeezed gently. The boy was so fragile, scarcely seemed to have any bones at all, curled in on himself as if the streams he could see were crushing him. "Are you alright?"

Still no answer, not to that, but Moebius tensed before politely brushing Janos' hand from his shoulder and getting to his feet, the tension holding as he walked off, clearly anything but alright.

.

No misfortune would be true misfortune if it did not take more than one form, and Janos found himself torn between his duties and the constant, panicked monitoring of Vorador's health. No one had noticed anything unusual until Vorador simply refused to wake up one evening, only that he had fed a little more heavily than he tended to, and now he seemed to be in the most uncomfortable of comas, curled in on himself as if to change his shape altogether.

The worst part of the coma was not knowing what he could do to help; he prayed every night to a silent God already, kept offering his wrist to teeth that ignored its presence, but there was little more to attempt; Samael was already looking into the problem and he could not spare the time himself, not with the Citadel to attend to.

Fate might be cruel, but Vorador's sense of humour was crueller; when his fledgling finally awoke and Janos was called back to his side, asking how he was, what had happened, could he remember anything before the coma, Vorador remained silent as if struck dumb for the longest time. It was only after thoroughly studying his newly blackened nails and the bed sheets he had shredded while waking that he turned to Janos and grinned with fangs that seemed a little more elongated, ignoring all other questions; "I could do with a drink."

.

One misfortune had been taken care of, but Moebius still unsettled him.

Mourning was understandable, as was shock, but as much as he wanted to attribute Moebius' ongoing peculiar behaviour to the balance guardian's death he could not help but feel that perhaps Samael was right; something about Moebius' behaviour felt off, even for someone bereaved - even for someone whose health both physically and mentally depended on the stability of the Circle and the balance guardian at its core. For all his wanting to treat the boy like any other child guardian there was a definite sense that Moebius was hiding something, and despite his youth the boy was inscrutable. All Janos could truly pick up was a sense of being looked down on, and an increasingly palpable sense that he was in danger as long as he was in the boy's presence.

It was a strange, unpleasant sensation; the previous time guardian and most of the seers he had known tended to look at Janos with pity or frustration, but he had the distinct feeling that Moebius outright disliked him. Had his future changed since his hand was involved in the crafting of the Reaver? Or did the world resent vampires in some way for passing on the curse?

.

Still, for all Moebius' oddities the other children seemed to be reacting well to the relatively stable environment, settling down once the newest balance guardian was sourced even if the babe was scarcely out of swaddling clothes when they found him. The children seemed to have an interest in looking after one another, often grouping into pairs or trios and treating one another as siblings, sometimes more. It felt... strangely healthy, and a relief given the unfortunate bouts of violence required to give them that stability.

Vorador too seemed to be enjoying the environment; clearly loved the additional strength vampirism gave him, and he'd taken to showing off skills as he discovered them; Janos felt a little alarmed by a few of them, the ability to flay an animal with his mind a little too violent for his tastes even if it was undeniably useful, but some were entertaining.

He near jumped while writing out notes from his research when fingers tapped his shoulder from behind and he turned to face Vorador, his fledgling's footsteps having gone unheard, and it was only when Vorador took a breath and reappeared on the other side of the table that Janos realised exactly what his fledgling was showing off.

It had been a struggle, and the gestures were slightly different to those he'd been raised using, but apparently made vampires were as capable of teleportation as his own kind. Vorador's curiosity had more uses than he'd ever imagined; he hadn't even needed to offer guidance for his fledgling to master a new skill this time.

"Well?"

"I'm impressed," Janos replied, smiling despite the distraction meaning he had forgotten most of the finer details on his research he'd been trying to commit to paper. "Have you shown the others yet?"

"I'll get around to that. Are you busy tonight?"

"I had meant to -"

"Good, you can reschedule." Vorador grinned, all too fond of showing his fangs off when he smiled, though they were decidedly impressive; wolfish, even. "I've been patient for a week, and it's time you rewarded that patience."

"I Whispered to you last night," Janos reminded, lips twisting slightly towards a smirk as he recalled the exact words of that Whisper.

"And there's no damn comparison between that and your sweat. Tonight, or I'll be very disappointed."

.

Putting down the last of his research and deciding to follow through with his fledgling's request, Janos walked on, keeping his Whispers to Vorador quiet as he made his way towards his chambers, when he caught sight of activity down by the temple. Strange - there were no night masses scheduled, had been little worship at all given how many survivors resented their god for refusing to talk any longer - and Janos quickly realised it was no vampire, the black against the visitor's back not a set of wings but a cloak. Moebius on one of his peculiar visits, just as Samael had mentioned so many weeks ago.

Feeling guilty for spying but unable to shake a sense that he had to watch, Janos stepped back into the shadows and blew out his candle, hoped his night vision would serve him well enough as he looked down, and swallowed instinctively when Moebius looked around the main hall. Janos knew perfectly well that his feelings about the time streamer were only instinctive - that he'd never been given reason to fear more than the young man's abilities - but even so, the looks Moebius gave and secrecy of his actions inspired a certain sense of nervousness.

While there was nothing outright threatening in the way Moebius pressed his ear against the locked door to the temple, Janos found himself anxious regardless; wondered what Moebius was listening for, or more than that, who he was listening to. Their god was silent, wasn't he?

After what seemed like an age, Moebius walked away from the temple, something in his hand glowing faintly and Janos' heart pounding at the sight of it for reasons he could not explain; still, Moebius had not done anything wrong or even impolite, he had just shown curiosity.

Janos wished he could believe everything his eyes told him and ignore everything his stomach argued in return.

.

The visit to Vorador's room did little to settle his stomach, but at least it was a pleasant enough distraction for long enough to allow him a little sleep. Only a little; as much as he wished to sleep deeply, to forget everything that had happened, forget everything his gut instinct told him, his body had different ideas and Vorador responded in kind, waking him fully before sunset was even close and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Your mind wasn't ready to sleep," Vorador cautioned, frowning and moving his hand down to the base of Janos' spine, rubbing firmly where it normally would help soothe the most jangled of nerves. "Care to explain the reason?"

Janos narrowed his eyes for a moment, thinking, the request to word his feelings making them seem ridiculous somehow; insubstantial. "It doesn't matter."

"Then it doesn't matter if I go back to sleep," Vorador grunted before rolling onto his back, leaving one arm around Janos' waist for the sake of offering some comfort as he drifted swiftly back into dreams, even if it took Janos some time to follow back after, the waking and conversation somehow making his fears seem foolish.


	11. Chapter 11

It was Vorador who woke first the second time, grabbing his head before swearing loudly, vilely, leaping out of bed and dragging on trousers before seizing his preferred sword and an axe, dropping a pike across Janos' stomach. "Something _is_ wrong," Vorador announced before opening the door, looking around. "Someone Whispered. You raise the alarm, I'm going to make sure anyone else who can hear a Whisper gets the Hell out of here."

An attack; an attack, and it wasn't the Hylden, and Janos knew through and through, knew his damned gut instinct had been right, that it had to be something to do with the humans, and after pulling on a tunic he grabbed the pike, prayed there would be no need for armour as he made his way towards the bell-tower. His feet seemed to be leading him more than his mind, and at the juncture of the corridors he near vomited, collapsing, his heart feeling fit to burst and breathing rendered useless as he caught sight of Moebius and - and his staff, his staff with that orb from outside the temple clutched in its maw. Whatever magic drove the time streamer's staff Janos did not know, but if it could overpower him at a glance - dear God, what had Moebius planned? Who was helping him?

Thank God for even the smallest of mercies given that Moebius seemed to either overlook or ignore him, heading down the opposing corridor with a group of armed mortals who could only have come from outside and freeing him to head for the tower once more.

.

Annabelle, human guardian of conflict, stood guard at the bell flanked by two demons she had - apparently - summoned to her side. "You'll have to get past me to raise the alarm, heathen," spat the girl before sending forth her grey-skinned pets; neither would be easy to dispatch but there were quicker methods of avoiding death at the hands of such creatures than battle. Thankful for his particular alignment, Janos blasted the girl and her pets back against the wall before calling forth a tornado to carry all three of his opponents into the air, letting them crash against the bell he was not close enough to ring through the traditional method.

Too young, too ignorant and too fragile; the initial blast had stunned the girl and slamming into the bell was enough to finish her off, the demon pets fading swiftly after to escape their slavery. The bell certainly rang loud enough to startle all but the heaviest of sleepers into waking and Janos prayed he had been fast enough to save the majority; he did not know what Moebius had backing him, did not know if other demons had been summoned, other humans or vampires recruited for whatever purpose that staff was meant to serve.

.

As the mixed smell of human and vampire blood filled the air it surprised Janos little to find Vorador near the centre of it all, wielding his sword with ease and feasting heavily as he cut through those who dared approach; still, for all Janos wanted to stay with his fledgling to assure his safety and cut down the upsurge's numbers, there were priorities. Uschtenheim would be their meeting point, given human access to the aerie was impossible, but in the meantime it was necessary to see what damage had already been caused. Sianne could take care of herself but he could not conscientiously leave the rest of the pillar guardians and their mentors to their own defences.

Vorador's Whispers of warning about the status of the Citadel had only attracted replies from made vampires in the regions outside, and no one seemed to have attacked or even seen Moebius since Janos' initial sighting of the time streamer. The reason for that seemed clear enough as Janos moved down corridors empty save for human aggressors; his hands curled into fists as he passed each room, finding the vampires inside slain neatly, tidily, as if held in place while killed.

That staff. That _damned_ staff. He'd woken these people through the bell but the staff had rendered them as helpless as it had him earlier, lambs to the slaughter. The nature guardian had fallen; the mind and states guardians too, and these had been Moebius' _friends_ for all their differences in nature; Janos dare not imagine how many more were lost, opened the door to Samael's room with unease.

Mortanius was absent. Likely enough, he had joined Moebius on this crusade.

Samael was not.

.

Too many had fallen for the Citadel to be reclaimed without regrouping elsewhere, but he'd be damned if he left the corpse of the one vampire who'd stood by him for so many years languishing for the humans to use as a warning. Vorador had already used his kind's Whispering technique to warn others against returning to the Citadel, and any who were still there knew what they were up against.

Cradling the dead weight of Samael in his arms, wondering what had happened to his friend's sword - likely stolen as a trophy - Janos headed to the window and thanked God that the humans had not been graced with flight, trusting his fledgling to take care while he made for the canyons. Vorador's magical abilities ought to keep him safe for now, and Moebius' staff - how in _God's_ name he'd crafted that abomination in secret, Janos had no idea - was no longer in the Citadel's main corridors by all accounts, disappeared with its possessor. It seemed the humans had killed the vampire guardians they came for and 'freed' their human guardian brethren.

Janos was never one for survivor's guilt but he did wonder on occasion what unholy luck insisted on keeping him alive while his friends died around him.

.

Flying towards the canyons was easier than expected, the sky's dark clouds perhaps explaining why he was rarely sighted by Moebius' men and women or the usual hunters lining the roads to Meridian despite his having to fly lower courtesy of Samael's weight.

For all he had expected grief or anger, Shianna's expression seemed to display only unsurprised discontent when Janos landed and she led him quietly out behind her shack.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not trouble yourself with apologies for his death. You know as well as I do that his faith made him long for it." The words were cold but Janos knew Shianna well enough to understand her particular method of dealing with grief. In all likelihood she had known from her childhood what her parents were to die of; it was the curse of a seer. No one could resist the urge to find out their ending, or that of those closest to them. "I'll take it from here."

"I could give the blessings," Janos suggested, resenting his inability to feel anything more than helplessness. He had to remain while all his friends passed on; his duty demanded it. Reaver guardians were not summoned from birth and he'd yet to meet anyone else he could trust with its guardianship. Besides, it seemed soon he would be the only one of his kind left, and something as transient as a human or soulless as a made could not be trusted with the sword's keeping.

"I would rather you left that to me," Shianna replied, calm, her features seeming to have lost a little of her mother's softness in favour of the cool elegance favoured by most Hylden with time's passing. Strange how that meant, despite her wing structure and crest, that she was starting to take after her father in looks. "Did you see his death?"

"Only the aftermath," Janos replied, wondering again how Mortanius could ever have overpowered Samael unless the necromantic powers granted him by the Pillars truly were unholy in strength.

"I should like to think he died fighting. If you ever find out otherwise, I'd prefer you not to tell me despite your honest inclinations."

"If that is your wish."

Janos bowed his head as he left, felt a little startled when after he expected nothing more than silence, the beginning of his flight was greeted with a quiet "Thank you."

He looked to see if she stood outside so that he could acknowledge hearing her words, but found her door and windows closed, had to shrug off his impoliteness in not answering and begin his journey back towards the aerie.

.

Arriving in the aerie meant facing Vorador's anger at his late return but as much as he could have been amused by the almost paternal concern, he was more interested in taking time to appreciate his fledgling's company; having seen the last of his truly close friends from his race pass on, he could not help but be additionally grateful for still having Vorador to turn to.

The Citadel had fallen, and Janos felt himself being driven slowly mad by the itch to return regardless of how suicidal such a gesture would be; Moebius' staff left all his kind defenceless and there had been no chance to gather together survivors to regroup. Some part of him kept pushing forth the cruel knowledge that there might not be many survivors to regroup; his kind were not replenishing and he had been grimly aware of their numbers before the attack courtesy of Sianne's surveyance.

Yet again he seemed on the losing side.

.

The offer of a duel - not one with any particular purpose in mind, just practise and distraction from thinking about the Citadel - was swiftly taken up. Janos had loved teaching Vorador the mastery of weapons other than the sword, found it less taxing than teaching magic because there was less strain in learning physical techniques that could be clearly demonstrated. Moreover, Vorador had been a fast learner in this area, even if overly long or overly short weapons tended to frustrate him; the balance required for pikes and spears seemed to annoy him, as did 'fiddly' weapons like knives. The blunt force of swords and axes seemed his main strength, and Janos was thankful that hammers were not particularly favoured by his race - useless weapons for flight battles, all told - as if he'd had any of those in the aerie he suspected Vorador would have been a lethal force with or without practise.

It had been some time since Vorador last carried a pike in one of their duels but either he had been practising without Janos' assistance or he had impressive memory for technique, his skill evidenced in the scratches and cuts and blossoming bruises over Janos' body. Normally it was Vorador who fared worse in pike battles, but with nearly mastered technique, strength, and his usual ferocity backing him in the fight, the outcome seemed obvious.

Despite himself Janos found he could think of nothing but his pride in his fledgling's strength once pinned to the floor with Vorador's pike pressed up against his chin. Vorador seemed to have a stranger reaction to the victory; unsurprising in part given how they had practised together several times before but all-out duels had always ended with Janos as the victor; this time Vorador had won despite not even wielding his preferred weapon. Had Janos been an enemy, Vorador could slice his throat open now with ease.

Still, Janos found his heart racing as something in Vorador's eyes darkened, and he held his breath as best as he could as the pike drew a path down his chest, nudging against his belt before slicing it off and pushing the edges of his clothes apart. "How did you ever become a General when you bruise like an apple?" Vorador asked, looking over the purple patches of skin on Janos' chest and abdomen from their fight.

"Bruising is no measure of strength or -" the pike slipped back up, pressing against his chin to request his silence, and now his cheeks were flushed from more than exertion, his body overly aware of how much skin was exposed to his fledgling.

Vorador dropped to his knees and lifted Janos' legs apart, sliding the tattered trousers down but not fully off, licked at skin that had been cut, the flesh oversensitised from its recent wounds.

"What are you doing?" Janos asked, knowing he was unlikely to get a sensible answer but not caring, wondering what exactly his fledgling had planned to warrant such a strange glint in his eyes. "Vorador?"

Vorador frowned and Janos barely had a moment to breathe before the blunt end of the pike pressed hard up against him, slipping in at the firm pressure, and Vorador was sat too far back to be grabbed without leaning up and injuring himself, forcing him to settle for scratching at the floor for _something_ to hold.

He might have attempted to ask reasons from his fledgling but words were stolen by the hand Vorador didn't have wrapped around the pike's handle taking hold of his erection and stroking firmly, driving him further down a path that would send him mad.

"I will not share you with any other man," Vorador growled, licking a slow path down Janos' thigh with his tongue, setting a rhythm with the pike given Janos could barely move, "But I wanted to know how you look from here when I'm inside you."

Janos closed his eyes and shivered, tried not to tighten around the pike's handle because it had no give, lacked the slight but all-important flexibility of an erection, his breathing unsteady as he said, "You're depraved,". Which _was_ true, even if it was the sort of depraved that made one sympathise with sinners rather than chastise them, and he found himself trying to splay his legs further though the fact his trousers were barely down his thighs made movement difficult.

"I would say decadent, but you have a point," Vorador replied, sounding dangerously amused, and Janos would have opened his eyes to look had he not found himself frowning and closing them tighter as he came, body aching from wounds and crushed wings and the steady, constant pressure of the object inside him, but unable to deny that despite all that it was one of the better orgasms of his life.

Looking at last, Janos found himself all too aware of how utterly exposed he was, clothes tattered and his chest slick, the handle's removal leaving him at once relieved and feeling empty. Common sense made him expect Vorador to take over from the handle but his fledgling seemed uninterested in that despite moving to lean over him. There ought to be words for a moment like this but he could not find them, knocked senseless in more ways than one.

Vorador seemed equally speechless though not through being stunned, as far as Janos could tell, kept trailing the hand he wasn't using to keep his balance across Janos' skin, tracing ribs and stomach, shoulders and arms, the feathers he could reach with ease. His demeanour seemed odd in a way Janos thought he would not be able to place until Vorador finally spoke, eyes intense with an emotion not as sharp and shallow as lust. "I will not lose you to humans."

"I cannot promise to die a certain way," Janos replied, and Vorador glared before kissing him hard as if to hide the words that had been said.


	12. Chapter 12

Vorador seemed intent on keeping his word, had taken to hunting the warriors who had moved out onto the lake beneath the aerie when he thirsted. It certainly wasn't a just state of affairs given human weapons were rendered useless as soon as they were brought within the aerie, wards set up reducing their swords and arrows to dust. He'd had words with his fledgling about using teleportation tricks to move a human from outside into the courtyard, requested they be killed outside swiftly rather than moved into the aerie before being granted death, but suspected that he was not always obeyed in this. Still, whenever he dropped into the courtyard after smelling blood, the bleeding human would always be found as a strung up corpse rather than some suffering creature on the floor, so at least his fledgling respected his wishes when thinking he could be caught doing otherwise.

It didn't entirely seem enough for his fledgling; Vorador had never entirely forgiven his former race for the rebellion despite the fact they had done so to avoid being given the curse. Despite the fact they had only been in the Citadel at all because they had been _kidnapped_, which Janos had never felt entirely comfortable with. There were only true two surprises in the human rebellion, and one explained the other; that it had taken them so long to rebel, and that it had been such a success.

While there was certainly something about Vorador's insistence on being protective that Janos appreciated, even thought sweet, he could not help but be concerned by the increasing violence of that urge and the way what was once simply protective slowly threatened to become outright smothering.

.

While at the time he had thought little of it, later reminiscence made it fairly clear that Vorador's protective urge took its sharpest turn towards the worst once the humans switched from occasionally making trips to scout the area around the aerie to setting up an actual camp at the lake's edges.

Vorador had looked down at the frozen lake, at the tent set up at its side, began the conversation that would become typical for them over the next few weeks.

"They know you're up here," Vorador said. "They're terrified of you and eventually they will find a way in."

Janos smiled. "You have watched the mountains grow more treacherous over time," He reminded, "Even you could not get in without teleportation magic. Moreover, only vampire magic could ever break the wards over the more accessible regions of the aerie."

"Even so," Vorador said, ducking instinctively when an arrow flew up towards the balcony despite the ward over it preventing any missile from penetrating, wood and steel evaporating into dust as soon as the arrow touched the ward's surface. "You cannot be safe here. You should move."

"Where to, Vorador? This is my home. Moreover the wards are set up specifically for our saviour's arrival and there is no one left to help me craft new ones."

"Sianne and the survivors of the Citadel -"

"Vorador," Janos interrupted, folding his arms and tilting his head. "It isn't as simple as you might think to craft blood magic. And what would I do when my next home is found by humans?"

"It should be that simple," Vorador mused in return, breathing in a little unsteadily before making a displeased sound and walking away from the balcony. "The humans have no right to do this to us."

.

Janos had never entirely understood Vorador's aggression towards humans; he had always thought it would be _easier_ to empathise with a race if you were once part of it - not more difficult. Still, perhaps Vorador was judging them by his own standards on account rather than accepting their flaws, angered by their inability to see vampires in the same light he had, forgetting that for these newer generations they only knew vampires as predators. Those who remembered Janos' race before the blood thirst were dying off, old age taking their bodies and minds and memories, letting the times when his race and humans coexisted in relative peace become something mythical.

The increased aggression was becoming wearisome to live with but there was still good in Vorador, evident in moments when the quiet between them was _just_ quiet and not filled with unspoken words and in moments when he returned from trips to the other regions of Nosgoth with stories about how he had assisted some fledgling or another. He had started to get a reputation for being a guardian of his kind; not quite a saviour, but a source of information and advice, and it seemed good to know that at least in this Vorador had a relatively altruistic purpose.

Janos certainly did not accept violence in Vorador's manner when it was voiced in the aerie, but when it was expressed in subtler means he generally let his thoughts on it slide unsaid, allowing Vorador a possessive streak in bed and saying little when his fledgling took off without a word, but even so, he had limits.

.

Janos had not woken to screams in many years; wondered what in God's name was going on as he dressed, the voice - a girl's, young, human - ringing in his ears as he slipped into robes that had not been folded properly last night. He wondered why that was; habit normally rendered it a quick process, so he must have been particularly frustrated or tired to have let that slip his mind.

Walking out into the corridor meant hearing Vorador's laugh, though the reason why was not quite so clear until he dropped down into the courtyard and found himself nearly knocked over by a delicate blonde creature, bleeding at the neck, her arms wrapping around his waist as she dropped to her knees. "Help me, oh God oh God help -"

Her heart sang to him, racing, but he forced the thirst down; had fed recently enough to do so with relative ease. Meeting her eyes let him slip her into a thrall, given she did not know he was a threat; let her think she was safe, let her think that the blue-skinned demon in front of her was secretly a kind thing and that the monster who had chased her was the only evil here. So pretty, huge, blue doe-like eyes, skin bright red from the force of her sobbing.

Vorador had halted to watch, grunted when Janos rested a hand each side of the girl's head before twisting it sharply, breaking her neck and making her death sudden enough she had no chance to realise she had left one sort of predator for another. "What in God's name were you doing?" He yelled as he turned his attention to Vorador, furious; theirs was a curse before factoring in the hunting element - adding _torture_ to the list was appalling.

"She was only human," Vorador replied, glaring in return at his sport being interrupted.

"_You_ were only human," Janos snapped, picking the girl up into his arms and carrying her body over to the device for draining, almost tempted to take her corpse back to Uschtenheim and leave it there as punishment for Vorador's transgression. "Hunting them is not a game, they have lives as much as we do -"

"Do you think of that when you kill them?"

"Yes!" It was simple, and true, and saying it left him wondering - "Do you not?"

Vorador looked somewhere between confused and a little horrified. "How can you end their lives when thinking about who they are?"

Janos had nothing to say in response, could not fully understand why _Vorador_ did not understand, tying up the girl's ankles and waiting for Vorador to storm off or demand further answers.

He was nearly through draining her when he realised he had not heard either, dropped her without ceremony on seeing Vorador collapsed and unmoving. Thank God for small favours in that at least Vorador's body kept breathing despite an apparent lack of need for air; finding any measure of his fledgling's health was otherwise impossible. Was this how he'd slipped into his last coma? What change might this bring?

The girl would have to wait; her soul might be displeased by her body's mistreatment but she was permanently lost where Vorador was, by most definitions, alive.

"Had to pass out on the one floor with no bedrooms," Janos grumbled to himself as he slipped both arms under Vorador's, wrapping tight around his fledgling's chest and partially lifting him before taking flight, heading for the nearest room with a bed as swiftly as he could, dragging Vorador onto the mattress and covering him in blankets to trap what little body heat still ran through his veins from a partial feed.

God damn it; what was he supposed to do with an unconscious fledgling again? At least Vorador's inability to make use of his kill would save Janos a hunting trip, but even so.

.

Taking care of Vorador through a second coma was decidedly easier than it had been the previous time, for all that it was still a frustration. At least this time he knew what he was dealing with; knew he would wake up thirsty and changed, his body having taken the rest it needed to exert itself through altering bones and flesh. What would this change bring? Vorador already seemed as pale as he was surely capable of getting without his skin shifting from translucence into transparency, and while he was no weakling he certainly lacked the musculature for wings.

He would have to wait and see; perhaps this coma would be shorter than the last, perhaps longer, but all Janos knew was that he had no control over what his fledgling's body chose to do.

.

When the change finally came, Janos found himself at once distressed for his fledgling and distressed because of him. Newly clawed feet meant relearning to walk, muscle memory useless with the lack of five to balance him in the way he was used to, and on account of this Vorador was temperamental with far more than hunger. The constant embarrassment and frustration of stumbling and falling, occasionally smacking his arms or head while collapsing worsening his temper, kept etching away at Vorador's already worn patience to leave him almost constantly on the edge of snapping.

Janos did what he could to soothe his fledgling's nerves, helping patch up wounds without words, staying out his way as much as possible so the thought of someone seeing his falls did not add to the stress of injury, but the tension between them lingered. It was not so surprising, in all honesty - they had been fighting more and more of late, and Vorador's coma had been only a brief respite from the usual. He'd watched Vorador snap at small things and wondered what larger visual he was missing, what exactly was driving the wedge between them; felt as if he was focusing on splinters and missing a log.

.

Weeks passed, Vorador growing steadier on his feet with surprising and relieving speed, until the source of his fledgling's frustration finally became clear; Janos was knelt in front of the Reaver, beginning his evening prayers, when Vorador walked in, radiating annoyance. "What are you doing?"

"I was about to pray -"

"To that?" Vorador interrupted, nodding to the Reaver. "Were you about to pray to the Reaver?"

Janos got to his feet, bowing his head slightly both in reply and in hope that the gesture of mild submission would cause his fledgling's mood to pass as so many of them had beforehand, tried not to be too mindful of the pale haze over Vorador's eyes. Not red; red was the colour of the hunt, while white was the colour of attack.

"I hate that damned sword," Vorador said at last, voice unsteady. "I loathe it. I wish I'd never crafted it, and I wish the damned war was still going on because at least then I'd know I was losing you to something _worth_ dying for."

Janos tensed, claws curling into fists at Vorador's words. "You know I have but one purpose."

"You weren't born for that purpose," Vorador spat. "You were not born a guardian, you weren't summoned, you _chose_ to guard the Reaver. Who do you suppose it could save now? The made vampires? Humans? _Nosgoth_? You're damn near the last of your kind and you're wasting your life on a saviour who'll never come!"

The argument had been a long time coming but it still hurt, Janos raising his eyes to meet his fledgling's. "Don't say that. Nosgoth would have been damned without the Pillars, better that only my race should suffer."

"And you honestly believe that? How many of your kind have you buried? How many of your kind have you watched others bury? You can't live like this and I can't watch you do it. You deserve _better_, Janos."

"I will not believe Samael and Shia died for nothing," Janos replied, feeling stirrings of anger within himself. How long had it been since his frustrations were directed at something other than the Hylden and their curse? "My faith has sustained me thus far, somehow, and all I know is that he will save us. The prophecies -"

"The prophecies are a goddamned lie!"

Janos' eyes widened before he snarled, unable to help himself, breaking a commandment he hadn't had to think about in decades. "The prophecies knew how our war started and ended, predicted more battles than you can imagine with accuracy. They were _right_. And what do you know of God?"

"I know he's a bastard you believed until the day he started ignoring you for ending the Hylden like he'd told you to, and I know he's something you never saw. What if he was a mass delusion? Not unheard of, even humans have their own gods."

"How _dare_ you?" Janos snapped before catching himself, reigning in the anger in his tone of voice. "Our God _spoke_ to us, Vorador, more than any human can say of theirs when they go on the crusades they claim to be righteous." It was foolish to let himself be so angered by Vorador's words and he took a few slower breaths to ease his temper, let the claws digging into his hands bear the brunt of his frustration. "God only knows I care for you but you have no right to call my faith foolish compared with those others follow."

"I'm not comparing it with other faiths, I'm comparing it with reason," Vorador insisted. "You can't _win_, Janos, there is no victory in waiting centuries for a messiah who'll never come. What purpose is served by guarding a sword that's done nothing but leave you hurt, tired and lonely? Do you want to be a martyr for _this_ godforsaken world?"

Janos paused to take in Vorador's words before closing his eyes, decision reached. "I think you should leave for now. I need to pray."

He didn't expect the punch Vorador delivered, staggered slightly and stared in disbelief as his fledgling froze, looking at the fist he'd delivered the blow with as though it had acted of its own free will, before saying in a strange tone Janos hadn't heard before, "Go pray. Go hide in this chapel of yours and pretend the world is going to mend itself. Pretend I wasn't here."

.

Vorador left after that.

.

Janos could not honestly say he had expected his fledgling to stay forever; but even so, at the same time, he hadn't thought it would be so... what _felt_ like so soon. Vorador had been an individual sort as a human and his need to find a place he could call his own had been visible in so many areas; his general irritation, his urge to explore Uschtenheim more, the way he spent more and more time looking out from the aerie.

Still.

Janos looked at the room, stripped bare of all belongings save those that had been there from the start, and walked over to Vorador's bed before lying down on top of the sheets and bunching them beneath his fists.

He could track Vorador down if he wished, but leaving had been more than a gesture of frustration from his fledgling. It had been a gesture of separation.

Swallowing down bile he hadn't expected, an emptiness he did not entirely understand, Janos curled against the bed that couldn't smell of his fledgling because Vorador had ceased to have a scent of his own, and screamed into the pillows.

.

Uschtenheim mornings were always cold, but it had been some time since Janos felt the cold penetrate his skin. Strange. He'd been lonely before, but never entirely felt it. This loneliness ran bone deep.

He'd fallen asleep on Vorador's bed - what had been Vorador's bed, rather, and was now back to being a spare room. Silly, really, and he'd ruined the white pillows with his tears even though he didn't remember sobbing. It must have happened though, his head still aching with the pressure of the tears that hadn't made their presence known.

It had been a long time coming, that argument. He'd felt it in the air ever since the human rebellion; Vorador could not forgive the world for letting that happen despite the fact he'd been a human himself once, had experienced the fear of vampire attacks. Of course the humans had rebelled against being turned - it was a curse, they were _taught_ that it was a curse.

But they had still treated the made vampires as friends until the betrayal.

More than that, though, Vorador had taken to hating the Reaver because it represented false hope as far as he was concerned. He'd said before that if the vampire race was damned then all of Nosgoth deserved to be damned; words Janos could scarcely imagine Vorador ever having uttered as a human. Vorador had been a realist for the longest of times, ever since Janos knew him, but cruelty and fatalism in that realism were new entities and they had finally taken their toll.

Janos got to his knees and smoothed the pillows down even though they would need replacing, the instinct to tidy irrepressible especially with his sudden need for something, anything to do. Any distraction.

He would visit the Citadel again soon; that, at least, would be something.


	13. Chapter 13

As much as Janos knew Vorador's stubborn streak would prevent him returning, it still took a week of sleeping in his fledgling's bed and waking up with only his own boots at the foot to shake him into fully being aware of what that meant. He had no intentions of staying at the Citadel for long, knew the dangers, knew he would find the disappearance of yet more familiar faces depressing on his arrival, but felt in need of someone from his own kind to talk to and knew even if there were none there he could contact them easily from its reaches. Not necessarily for sympathy; just to know there were other blue-skinned faces around.

Taking flight from his aerie was entertaining as ever given the arrows and other missiles aimed at him by the hunters who had gathered beneath, dotted over the frozen lake and its surroundings. Granted they were not friendly company but it was comforting to know he was not entirely alone; comforting to know that at least one race in Nosgoth continued to thrive regardless of their own violent natures.

The differences between modern Nosgoth and its past were at once slight and thoroughly important; the structures and geographical landmarks had changed little, if at all, but life in various forms took root like it never had when he was still young. Areas that had once been barren now teemed with life - tiny life, grass and shrubs and weeds, but life nonetheless. He'd watched even Uschtenheim be touched by patches of grass and strange mountain plant life since the construction of the Pillars; had watched land heal he hadn't even known needed healing. When crops struggled to take hold he had always thought that simply an unfortunate part of farming, had never realised there was an alternative because he had been brought up in a frozen, barren land. He had thought the lifelessness _normal_, had always thought Termogent Forest to be slightly peculiar in its thriving.

.

For all that the surrounding lands and forms of life were thriving, approaching the Citadel sent a slight chill up his spine; the elders' room, later the vampiric Circle of Nine's room, had never been fully repaired; and now it seemed that even the repairs managed during the time after his last return to the Citadel had fallen away into ruin. He had not visited since the human rebellion, thought at the time it might have been abandoned altogether, but later years had led him to consider how there truly was nowhere else suitable as a vampiric meeting ground. Wards against humans would render the building safe again if they were set up, and there were few structures left that soared so high.

Still, landing left him with the eerie sensation that, while the building certainly looked abandoned and he felt no change in the wards save how they had weakened with no one to support and refresh the magic sustaining them, he was not entirely alone.

Thank God, though, for his defensive instincts letting him duck out of the way without seeing his attacker coming; her sword hand was steady as ever, would have taken his head if he were not careful.

A quick, quiet laugh passed between the both of them, any noise they might have made stolen away by the silent surroundings. "Good to see you too, Sianne."

"I've met with too many feral humans and vampires to justify asking questions first," Sianne announced, before adding, "You still have your talent for survival, I see." After a moment's awkwardness Janos was almost alarmed to find her arms around his waist, hugging him tight; this much he had never, ever thought he would find happening.

"Sianne?"

"Don't talk for a moment, Audron," She replied in a half-snarl, voice unsteady. "Please."

Janos held her a little loosely, half expecting her to pull back and punch him at any moment as if he were the cause of her slip. Sianne was not... he had never known anything truly soft in her after Hannah's death and there was something alien and almost a little frightening in seeing it.

"I think we may be the last," Sianne said after what had to have been several minutes of holding him, her eyes shadowed when she pulled out of his arms. "The last alive."

Janos wondered what had prompted the correction, repeated her words back, "The last alive?"

Sianne looked uncomfortable. "I can't say I was ever fond of our god despite his words, but there are... there are moments, now, when I start to feel that maybe his worshippers were right. I don't believe in ghosts, but in the lower echelons of the Citadel, I could have sworn I felt... something. Something wrong. And I heard whispering."

Without wanting to provoke her anger or refusal to share any more of her thoughts, Janos asked, "What felt wrong?"

"I can't quite explain it," She mused, her discomfort far more visible now, "But it felt like Hannah was there."

.

Janos found his old room easily, thought it odd that it should look near the same as when he had left it when the rest of the world had been damn near up-ended. There was something in the air that smelt familiar, as much as old death and dried blood should have overpowered the sense of comfort. He'd spent so much time here wishing to be elsewhere; now he was seeking familiarity that had been lost at home beneath sheets that, while dusty enough to make him sneeze, still weighed the same, felt the same as ever.

The high emotions of recent times had left a fatigue in his mind that could not be alleviated by resting his body; even so, it still seemed intent on attempting to ease itself through sleep, let momentary oblivion come swiftly.

.

He woke with his underlying sense of unease still a strong presence, if not stronger, found that as he stirred the reason why his unease had strengthened was obvious. Blood was on the air, though still faint enough that he could not identify anything about it save for what it was.

Moving through the corridors meant the scent increasing in strength, though it was not rendering him thirst; though part of him hoped that was due to the blood being from an old corpse, he knew better than to trust in hope; expected what was coming before ever seeing it.

Seeing Sianne impaled on her own sword in one of the lower halls was not a punch to the gut, not an unexpected shock, but it wasn't something he had ever wanted to see either.

Janos pulled the sword out, careful not to step in the blood surrounding her as he did so, and without entirely thinking about what he was doing punched her solidly before sitting on a clean patch by her corpse's side, drawing his knees up to his chest. It wasn't _right_ for her to die this way. She was strong; she should have been taken by a battle, not by her own hand. She was stronger than that. She deserved a better, nobler death.

He'd felt the difference in her, known something was wrong when he arrived in the Citadel, but even so.

Sianne had deserved better. Samael died in battle despite having never been a soldier; Shia had died for all of them.

Sianne had deserved a death like theirs.

.

After finding enough candles to let him use his limited ability with fire as an element to cremate Sianne's body, Janos allowed himself to wander around the Citadel for a while, listening for any signs of life - hostile or otherwise - but it seemed abandoned. No one had sent word of the last few suicides; no one had sent word of the human rebellion reaching the outskirts of Nosgoth. Sianne aside, he had not seen a familiar face in far too long; had not seen a blue-skinned face of any sort for even long than that.

He might as well be the last of his race, he mused, before the memory of Sianne's words hit like a physical force, leaving him frozen in place and feeling smaller than he ever thought possible in the Citadel's corridors.

She had thought the two of them to be the last true vampires left in Nosgoth, and now she was gone as well.

He might _be_ the last.

.

On returning to his room in the Citadel - strange to call it his room now he was aware that, essentially, he had no right to call any part of the building his - Janos wondered if Shia had seen this; if she had known he would be left like this, if this was the suffering he was meant to endure. He was sure she had mentioned blood at some point - that physical suffering would be there too; in vague terms that could have meant his thirst, but his thirst was manageable and she was not the sort to mince her words. He had yet to go through anything he could call physical torture, nothing significant, anyway.

He wondered what horrors she had foreseen to call the pain he would endure appalling; why she had not called _this_ appalling. What physical symptoms could _ever_ surpass this? Bleeding was a clean pain, a sharp, measurable pain. This was something else.

This made physical pain seem... _pedestrian_.

There was no screaming into pillows this time; no acting out against the world; Janos simply packed his bags and stretched out on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. He would return to the Reaver, and he would care for it. His Messiah would come to wield it; the prophets had been right about the war, right about event after event. They would be right about this too.

What use his Messiah could pose after so long he did not entirely know, but that was the right of all divine beings. All he knew was that the Messiah would restore balance to Nosgoth; restore vampires to their rightful place as guardians of the land.

He had thought, in his naivety, that his kind were the vampires to be saved.

Perhaps Vorador's interest in looking after made vampires had been right all along.

.

Janos wasn't sure when he fell asleep; not entirely sure that he _had_, because drifting in thoughtlessness and sleep were not so very different when one left their eyes closed to do the former. It was strange; he had expected this to hurt him until he was breathless, the knowing that he might not see another living blue-skinned face unless he looked in a mirror. He had expected to scream and sob and beg his God for merciful death.

Instead it was the urge to resume his duties that was overwhelming. He did not know why; did not know what about the Reaver drew him back to caring for it over and over again, beyond reason, beyond caring for his race's passing or the hunters outside his aerie or, God help him, even for Vorador. The Reaver took priority over all in his thoughts; was a presence as great, maybe even greater than God had ever been.

.

He let those thoughts slide, picking up his bags and tying them around his waist and across his chest, wondering where the peculiar calm he felt had come from. Samael rarely spoke of oblivion with any fear; perhaps he had slipped into some strange oblivion of the mind. It made sense - one mind could only take so much, though he was mildly relieved to see that his ability to think coherently had not been sacrificed to achieve this sense of calm.

The flight felt slow; humans did not even seem to be looking for his kind, no mages or magical weaponry aimed at the sky as he passed from one safe enough site for making camp to the next. Strange, on the way to the Citadel he had not even noticed that - thought the hunters around Uschtenheim were typical of all hunters across Nosgoth.

Given his kind had been adept at easing the task of hunters by ending their own lives, it was not so surprising said hunters should have turned to the newer breed of vampires, apparently ignorant of their human origins. That or the humans acknowledged as his kind had that the made vampires' abilities were on account of being cursed.

.

It was strange on his return to find a note waiting for him on the balcony, safeguarded by what would look to anyone else like an ordinary black cat though he knew better. The minion disappeared once he took the paper from beneath its paws, fading away to wherever it had been summoned from while Janos read its contents.

He had not expected word from Shianna; was torn as to how exactly he felt at her choice of message. At least its arrival meant that she was still safe, but then, she had the savvy possessed by most Hylden; lacked any interest in sentiment. If she were in danger she would move out of her residence, never worrying about making herself a 'home' as long as she had shelter of her own.

Tucking the note neatly into the first book on the aerie's shelves, figuring it was as safe a place as any until he brought it to be filed away neatly in his study, Janos wondered what humans made of her. He'd yet to hear word of another winged being despite now knowing for certain that she, at least was still alive; had little reason to render herself otherwise.

.

Perhaps it was a strange side effect of whatever had come over him with Sianne's death, but when he considered what had happened with his race, Janos felt... not quite angry, not entirely sympathetic, but frustrated. He understood why so many had taken their lives but did not understand how they justified it to themselves; the guardians had been born into strange powers no one else understood, and the priests had found themselves without a guide, but everyone else had lives they could lead. Hunting was unpleasant but a necessity, and with practise it could be done with a swiftness that reduced the hunter's guilt and left the hunted dead before they had a chance to suffer. Returning to the Wheel was something that could only be forced by murder or suicide, but why had everyone rushed?

Regardless of what had been the norm for everyone else, Janos felt as if he lacked the option they had taken. Someone needed to guide the saviour when he came, and while educating made vampires in their race's history was perfectly possible, he had seen what was in their nature. They would be another manipulative force against him and the matter of guiding him down the right path was such a _delicate_ matter, with so much stacked against him according to the legends, he needed someone who could give solid answers.

Besides, while the Reaver certainly didn't have legs as Vorador had so harshly pointed out once upon a time, it needed a home; a resting place, rather, until the saviour came for it. More than that, it needed someone to make certain it ended up in the right hands - while its thirst for blood meant using it against vampires would likely have little effect other than to render those attacked by it wounded and starved, Janos remembered what Kylian had muttered and scrawled. The Pillars were the lock, the Reaver was the key.

He could not die knowing that there was a chance of the Hylden finding a way back into this world.

.

With no one to take time from him, Janos found himself settling into his guardianship more readily; without others he could consider himself directly responsible for in any way, it was easier to retreat into the library and read, or into his study and look over Kylian's old notes once more, copying them onto fresh paper as best as he could when the original copies started to fade and brown with time.

And as much as he ought to have let Vorador's influence entirely disappear from his life, once in a while as night stretched on and he found himself overtired, he could not help but abuse the link between their souls a little, just enough to glimpse Vorador's surroundings and make certain of his health. He should have let go by now, accepted Vorador's leaving for what it was, accept that he had not been visited since and acknowledge what that meant, but just as Vorador had not abandoned him to hunger and madness, he could not abandon his fledgling to hatred. Not entirely; not without making certain that at least he was healthy in his anger.

.

Janos did not bathe very often; had little need to given that he had managed, more or less, to reduce hunting to a few swift, relatively mess-free motions. All he need do was drop silently down by someone alone and out of the sight of others - hunter, tourist or villager, it mattered little - snap their neck, and carry their body back for draining. Time seemed to soothe the hunger a little, or at least render it more familiar; he usually had it manageable by now, rarely needed to hunt more than twice a week any more as long as he was not careless in his feeding.

Even so, once in a while he permitted himself to bathe simply for the pleasure of it; Uschtenheim's cold would always be more comforting to him than too much warmth, but in the depths of winter or during particularly cruel weather the hot springs provided a welcome source of respite.

.

Janos opened his eyes after a few long moments spent simply enjoying the peace of the springs, if not quite quiet, found himself a little perplexed. After blinking a few times at the unusual presence curled up on a rock at the spring's edge, he fought the peculiar urge to poke at the source of his curiosity lightly to see if it was alive given he had no idea whether the creature in particular was poisonous. It certainly looked out of place, and he wondered if the high winds of the last week had blown it out from its territory; perhaps this unusual visitor had been swept up from the swamp. Uschtenheim's animal inhabitants mostly moved on or went into hibernation at this time of year when the cold was at its harshest.

Curled up like that the snake looked quite restful, though Janos found himself wondering what would happen to it if left alone. He couldn't conscientiously allow the creature to freeze to death by wandering off into the snow, and it was unlikely enough sources of food would come by the springs to feed it through the winter – especially not if it had come from the swamp and was used to animal life as readily available as plant life.

Janos slid down into the water a little, remembering the little note that Shianna had sent; _Shia_; he corrected himself after a moment, still struggling to think of her as having inherited her mother's name with her death as per Hylden naming rituals. Still struggling to think of Shia as dead, truth be told, even after all this time; that the woman he'd had a childhood crush on, the wife of his also deceased best friend, had passed on.

_"Vorador is safe.  
He moved into the swamp.  
Don't visit._

_\- Shia"_

During a hunt he'd overheard human whisperings about a witch living in the canyons down near Meridian; some travelling merchant, bringing wares from the capital, with a little too much beer running through his veins. Apparently she'd even acquired a new name for herself – humans had butchered it down to 'the Seer', which he suspected she would find amusing given it somehow combined her name and abilities into one descriptive package. And somehow it was a relief to know that despite his kind slowly being wiped from the planet, she seemed to be thriving alone.

He would not visit Vorador; Shianna's powers might not be quite as strong as her mother's had been, but they were significant enough to warrant attention. He had only to return the snake to Termogent Forest and then he could return home with a clean conscience.

Though, that said, he had only been ordered not to _visit_. Provided he made certain not to be seen there seemed little wrong with just looking over his fledgling's home, and he could not say that he was uninterested in knowing how Vorador was spending his time. Briefly glimpsing what he could through the connection of their souls had a voyeuristic, seedy edge he did not entirely enjoy; he only ever used it to ensure that the ongoing sense of Vorador still being alive was an accurate one.

After finishing up bathing, flicking his wings to get rid of what little water his natural oils had been no barrier against, Janos slipped back into most of his robes and used the top layer to wrap up the snake. It did not protest much at the treatment, too fatigued from the cold it had been through or hunger to put up much of a fight, and after an initial mild worry that it was going to wriggle out of the bundle he'd packed it into he found it seemed to settle.

He wasn't sure if had fallen asleep, but it seemed wholly unaware of its being taken for a flight as Janos headed for Termogent Forest, knowing he could teleport for ease's sake but feeling the need to stretch his wings. He had not been on a long term flight in some time and felt the fatigue of that in the base of his wings, the way they seemed a little heavier than they should; regular flights were good for one's health, and even though he doubted he had much to worry about in regards to that anymore, certain habits felt worthy of keeping up. He could not imagine waking up one day and discovering his reticence had left him unable to take flight any longer.

.

Familiarity made the journey to Termogent Forest seem less of an effort each time; the route was simple, well known, and he knew its outskirts well even if the dense plant life of the forest rendered knowing its innards near impossible. The snake didn't seem particularly interested in moving when he set it free from the robes, but after a moment it seemed to eye up a nearby bird with the familiar glance of a predator. Assuming that the territory was at least familiar enough for the snake to find itself food and whatever shelter it required, Janos retrieved the robes he had used for its transport and dressed fully before picking his way through the vines, looking for the mansion and finding himself a place to sit when he'd acquired a decent enough view.

Janos looked down from his perch, wondered how much time the forest's previous residents had spent up here in the thick, tall plant life rather than in the mansion. You couldn't quite call it a forest because for every inch of tree there seemed two inches of natural ropes and ivy, vines and veils draped to make a dense canopy; excellent for hiding in, if you were able to get up there _to_ hide.

There was something strangely comforting in looking at the courtyard and seeing made fledglings walking around. He doubted any were truly Vorador's, though that said, it wasn't as if the one vampire he could call his own fledgling was on speaking terms with him; perhaps he was being naïve when it came to one or two of the prettier girls in assuming they had been someone else's. Part of him wondered where they had all come from – who were descended from the few pillar guardians who had killed themselves before passing vampirism on. It seemed strange that so many had found their way here, but then, how many vampires would voluntarily take the role of guardian for their species?

He bit his lip at the thought that perhaps Vorador had more in common with him than he'd allowed himself to believe, though where he guarded a sword, Vorador helped feed and clothe those who had found themselves without sire or home.

Part of him wondered where all the blood for feeding these came from, but then, the swamp had long been avoided by most, and over the past couple of years he had heard the road into Termogent Forest referred to as a path to Hell. Perhaps Vorador had let his adopted, of sorts, children get a little more unruly than he would ever be inclined to admit.

.

He felt foolish when it happened, but when Vorador finally stepped out into the courtyard, Janos' breath caught in his throat. Shia had ordered him to stay away and he would; common sense told him that after their last argument, the last thing Vorador could ever want was to see him by surprise. Even so, he was tempted.

Age had added further lines to his fledgling's face, additional changes had left his skin with a noticeably paler hue, perhaps even greenish though that might have been the swamp's reflections playing tricks. His hair had receded further.

Even so, he was still identifiably Vorador, and Janos felt relief at seeing his fledgling alive and healthy; ridiculous given that he'd _known_ that to be the case already, but he could not help the fact the realist in him trusted what his eyes saw more than what he could sense through other means.

One of the female fledglings approached Vorador from behind, her clothing almost obscene; he'd seen his own kind wear less, but the fact that hers were near transparent made them seem more deliberately risqué. Words seemed to be exchanged before Vorador dropped to his knees, as if to retrieve something from the girl's feet. When it became clear that Vorador had not knelt for _that_ purpose but to let him slip beneath her skirts, Janos looked away swiftly; even if he'd been as naive as to still mistake the actions for something else the girl's face had quickly turned eloquent enough.

Strangely, he couldn't quite feel jealous of the girl. Vorador liked to surround himself with beauty, collecting trinkets that served no purpose other than decoration, and there seemed little reason why he shouldn't extend that philosophy to fledglings. Vorador had once been human, a race that treated death with utter terror, and thought immortality a gift; even, perversely enough, a blessing.


	14. Chapter 14

Returning to the aerie seemed to remind him of how, at once, the world seemed slower while time passed faster. Age was told in the faces of humans below him and the passing winters; not that there was much difference between winter and summer in Uschtenheim, save that the lake became treacherous for humans to walk upon and it snowed a little less. That, and the sun glared off the ice and snow drifts, rendering them a little painful to look upon.

He wished that the humans would not walk on the lake in summer, even if they did seem to consider it worthy of including in their patrols; had caught himself using his mild affinity with water to try and encourage the ice to thicken beneath their feet. But as little as it might seem he had to do, he could not spend all his time watching for the humans and drowning did occur; same as once or twice the cold became too much for their more delicate skins, plate armour not forgiving even with layers beneath to keep them warm.

At least their bodies did not have to go to waste, he supposed, though he severely doubted that their comrades saw the issue that way when he used distance teleportation spells to shift their corpses from beneath the ice into his courtyard to thaw for later use. One more accidental death, one less hunt.

Time ought to have been measured in his books as well, but for all his intentions of reading through all he had acquired, once he had finished the first fifty or so he kept drifting back to a handful of favourites. Occasionally he gathered the will to try something new, but there was something comforting about old favourites that even new favourites could not surpass.

Of what he had read to date there were three in particular that had been read until their corners wore thin as the pages had been, while the pages thinned to the point he had to slide a sheet of white paper beneath each page he read to prevent him seeing through to the text of the page after. Fanciful tales crafted by humans, their minds seeming to reach where fragile bodies could not take them, monsters he could not picture in any dimension save that the Hylden had summoned creatures from...

Janos settled in the library, angling himself as best as he could for comfort without preventing the fireplace's light reaching the pages of the book he had chosen, read on as the human protagonist battled his way across the waters outside Nosgoth to distant lands, facing leviathans of impossible size, and smiled at the dreams of a race that could still content itself with ordinary reality when made to do so.

.

Janos thought he heard a voice in his sleep, stirred slowly, wondering how he'd allowed himself to fall asleep in the library, and sat up sharply on seeing a face that ought not to be so familiar after decades spent separated. "Vorador?"

"I -" Vorador's expression bore more pain than Janos thought he could bear to see and God, Vorador had been so _angry_ when he left, what agony could have driven him back?

Standing and straightening, Janos reached one hand out to Vorador's shoulder, taking his fledgling in his arms on seeing that the touch wasn't rejected, and curled his wings around the both of them to shelter them against the world. He rarely used his wings like this, always, always preferred to be cool than warm to the point of sweating, but at least Vorador's skin was chilled from the snow outside. Not as chilled as it might have been, though; reddish watery footprints across the floor seemed confirmation enough on top of the slight warmth that Vorador had killed recently. "When you're ready," he soothed, prepared for but not expecting dry sobs as Vorador's claws dug into his sides.

.

There were no more words that night, Janos curling up on the floor with his fledgling and slipping one arm around his waist to fall asleep. Morning might bring arguments, might bring confessions, but whatever drama it had in store could wait; for now all that mattered was easing the immediate pain Vorador was enduring, doing his duty as sire and friend regardless of what tensions had developed between them in the past. Whatever else lay unsettled and disquiet he still loved his fledgling, and that would not end. If the battles between them continued on and on there was a chance he could stop _liking_ his fledgling, but he could not picture that happening for a long time to come, if ever. He understood too many of Vorador's frustrations to feel anger at his fledgling rather than at their arguing.

.

It was a little surprising to wake and find Vorador still under his arm, despite being awake, facing the fire. It seemed a little warmer in the room than when he had woken originally, but that was not so surprising; Vorador preferred the warmth and had enough affinity with fire that stoking it into being outright cosy from a distance was not so difficult a task.

Janos eased up, his right side aching a little from being crushed against the hard floor in his sleep, but not too uncomfortably so. "Good morning. Or afternoon, I suppose."

"Nocturnal habits," Vorador replied, voice noticeably steadier than it had been the previous night if still a little subdued. "Hard to shake."

Janos nodded, standing up and flexing his wings to help him rebalance until the urge to fall sideways passed, folded his arms to repress the urge to hold a hand out to Vorador given his fledgling did not generally appreciate unrequested assistance. "Should I leave you to your own devices from here on out?"

"Don't make me ask for your help," Vorador replied, sounding a little strained. "I already feel weak for needing you."

"You stopped needing me some time ago," Janos soothed. "You're strong on your own."

"I never stopped," Vorador countered. "You're the one person in this damned world who is still doing everything for the right reasons, whether I agree with them or not."

"You give me too much credit."

"You give yourself too little." Vorador folded his arms, looking a little more like himself; stubbornness suited him, helped fill out the folds of his velvet and leather as much as his muscles. Strangely, Janos found himself quite saddened at Vorador's tattoos being covered up by the long sleeves, even if that made the attire far more practical for the weather than the sleeveless robes he'd seen Vorador wear around the mansion. "I suppose I should tell you why I came here."

"If you're ready."

"Patient as ever," Vorador mused, before laughing. "Honestly, I think I'm the only person to have succeeded in making you angry."

"I think you would be surprised if you knew the truth," Janos replied, but fell quiet for Vorador.

"My fledglings - the fledglings, they went out to hunt when the bridges in the swamp collapsed. The water burnt them fast as being blasted in a furnace, I could not save them." He whistled, low, glared at the fire as if it were somehow responsible. "I was careless trusting the bridges to carry them over the water."

"They took the risk as much as you," Janos soothed. "There is very little you could have done."

"Very little is still something."

Janos rested one hand on Vorador's shoulder, tried to rub a little of the tension out even if it was largely a futile gesture. "What makes you care so much for these fledglings?"

"What makes you care for the Reaver?" Vorador said, bitter but not snapping this time. "No one else will. Humans have taken to hunting our kind down and slaughtering them ever since that rebellion - even though we were once like them. It's pathetic, like cattle gathering to trample the wolves that hunt them."

"And if a fledgling betrayed your trust?"

"I'm a practical man. If killing one helps the others to thrive, then so be it. The majority of them are well behaved anyway, keeping the larder supplied and taking care of each other as best as they can."

"I can't say I want to know what happens in the larder," Janos replied, smiling despite himself at the idea; but then, Vorador always did have a somewhat morbid streak.

Or ruthlessly practical streak, depending on one's point of view.

.

Janos disliked long walks in general, but at least journeying to the swamp could be cut short by teleporting to its outer edges. Janos did not dare teleport into the swamp itself; he was too unfamiliar with the territory, stood too great a chance of rematerialising with himself or Vorador inside a tree.

Perhaps naively, Janos had expected Vorador to seem more settled in the swamp, but that did not seem to be entirely the case; Vorador hesitated at the line of captured swamp lights that were aimed at warning humans away and beckoning vampires forth towards his home. "I wonder what they will think of me, those who've taken sanctuary in my absence."

"I would not fear," Janos replied despite it not having been a question, smiled at his fledgling for a moment. "Your age lends you permission for idiosyncrasies. What is it they have taken to calling you?"

"The Vampire Prince," Vorador replied, near smirking at the ridiculousness of the title.

"Would that make me the Vampire King or Princess?" Janos asked, bringing Vorador's smirk into full existence and unable to hide his own relief when it stayed there. Anyone from a human background tended to have a slightly fatalistic streak, probably as part of their fear of death, but he didn't want his fledgling to descend into unbroken fatalism. What was the point of immortality if you could not enjoy it?

The thoughts that the question led towards made Janos shiver before quickly changing from that path of unpleasant answers, switching to a more practical line.

"Whereabouts did they fall?"

Vorador seemed to take a moment to find his bearings, turning around, and Janos realised the obvious; that Vorador was not standing with them when they fell, had likely been told or had viewed the incident from a distance. He couldn't quite be certain whether that would have made the incident even more painful; tried to stop himself from instinctively wondering how he would cope with hearing of Vorador's death from someone else. "Around there," Vorador pointed out with a gesture, Janos thankful for the directions; with the bridges all collapsed the area had a very uniform look to it overall, given that aside from Vorador's mansion the majority of the area's landmarks were overgrown with lichen and vines.

"Do you mind if I retrieve them from the water?"

"I don't see humans taking that task on any time soon," Vorador replied gruffly, and Janos knew better than to comment on his fledgling's particular way of saying 'go ahead'.

.

The bodies were disfigured to the point where Janos could not help but feel a little nauseous, blistered away to scraps of flesh and bone. He daren't imagine how long they had remained alive as they burnt in the water, and picked up each corpse carefully, dragging them out onto comparatively dry land to drain. They would have to be burnt properly at some point to lay their spirits to rest, but for now it was enough just having them out of the stagnant water and shreds of collapsed, burnt bridge.

Janos had only heard Vorador say the bridge collapsed; he had not realised until now that they had collapsed from outside interference. Once upon a time the wooden bridges had stood to prevent people from accidentally finding themselves straying into the depths of the swamp, or into some swamp-creature's mouth. It had turned out additionally convenient for made vampires too, allowing them to simply follow a path made for them across the waters rather than forced to pick their way carefully across mud and shallow water in high boots. Sabotage made sense from a human point of view given the water offered little worse than leeches and sickness to a mortal, but clever as it was, it still seemed needlessly cruel.

Perhaps he was being nostalgic, but he was sure he could recall no such excess of cruelty in the humans of the village outside the Citadel. He had only ever known Vorador well, but never heard him complain about violent or aggressive neighbours; perhaps that day of mass suicides amongst his race had somehow infected the humans. Blood spilling had been virtually contained between his kind and the Hylden for so long, but ever since, it seemed an affliction across the land.

.

Satisfied he had removed anything that could be identified in whole or in part as vampiric from the water, Janos shook the dirty liquid from his hands and clothes as best as he could before picking his way across the few reasonably solid land masses he could find towards his fledgling's mansion, found himself flanked by two fledglings who were only too eager to take his bags from him and lead him to the guest's room.

Torn between admiring and being a little appalled by the mirrored ceiling, Janos could not help but be amused by his fledgling's tastes in decoration. He severely doubted that the vampires who originally made this mansion their residence had set up any of the red velvet drapes and gauze curtains; doubted more than that if the Lemm family, who had spent much of their family history in the Termogent area, were responsible for some of the obscene paintings and statues.

Still, for all of the mansion's oddities, there was something a little comforting about it; the constant movement of fledglings to and fro lending life to the occasionally crumbling edifices. And as much as Vorador had claimed he needed Janos with him back at the aerie, when Janos was finally led into the great dining hall - he did his best to ignore the dead man tied to the ceiling - Vorador seemed more at home sat in the armchair than he had near anywhere else. Something about the slightly worn but still lush upholstery seemed fitting, and Janos had to laugh a little when his fledgling handed over a chalice filled with blood. Granted, he had a similar system going with the blood bowls at his aerie, but there was something a little amusing at the mimicry of etiquette given the nature of their thirst.

Janos had not wanted to broach the topic first, but given Vorador had fallen quiet after drinking his share it seemed he had little choice. "Would you prefer a pyre for your fledglings to be built on the mansion's grounds or closer to where they fell?"

Vorador looked up at the ceiling, seeming to see past the corpse as he slipped into thought before finally replying, "In the courtyard, I think. One or two of the others expressed their desire to mourn; they should be able to do so in safety."

.

Janos had expected to be charged with gathering kindling, but Vorador was insistent on sending a few fledglings out to retrieve what branches they could; the quality of wood mattered little given his affinity with elemental fire. Instead, Janos was charged with taking rags from the pantry's discarded waste and wrapping the bodies so that the full extent of their scarring and blistering could not be seen.

He had to be thankful for the relatively clear space over the mansion, allowing him to simply fly into the main courtyard from outside with each bundle; it also meant that the scattered human hunters of the forest never had long enough to take decent aim at him as he made his return. Despite his wings they seemed to be taken aback by the thought of having to aim at a flying creature; probably hoped he would be an easier target like the fledglings could be, with only one avenue of movement available to them. Vorador didn't seem to have instructed the fledglings in teleportation; that, or they simply weren't capable of learning. Some would be second or third generation mades, their portions of the curse weaker...

Setting down the last of the bodies, Janos headed to Vorador's side and watched his fledgling order those under his command to lay torches at the base of the pile; raised his right hand to call on the flames to take root in the pyre rather than sputter pathetically against the damp wood. It did not take long; after a few moments of initial encouragement the wood had heated enough to feed the fire with or without assistance, and the scent of burning filled the air. Some of those who had been in the water _were_ young fledglings, their flesh burning near as wetly as a human's, while others were older, turning to ash swiftly. Vorador showed no signs of needing comfort but some of the fledglings looked distraught, and he knew better than to trust only physical appearances when it came to Vorador.

As the flames roared loudly enough he could pass off his prayers as something he had thought covered by the noise, Janos clasped his hands and said what few lines of the last rites he remembered; they had never been written down by the priests and in time would be lost altogether, but there were parts he recalled from standing at his men's sides as they were urged into the next world by warrior-priests.

"May lights guide your soul until the next life comes, and may God be merciful in freeing you from oblivion. May those you leave behind have their spirits eased, and may your next turn of the Wheel be as blessed as this."

If Vorador was looking, Janos took care not to notice, and only headed inside when his fledgling seemed to tire of waiting out the flames.

.

Janos normally had a fairly decent sense of direction, but the twists and turns of the house could be a little disorienting nonetheless and following Vorador meant losing all track of where his guest room was in comparison. It seemed likely he would need to ask a fledgling when he was done saying goodnight to his fledgling, but they had all been surprisingly polite so it did not seem too much of an issue.

Finally, before Janos could start feeling as if he were a lost puppy following their master around mindlessly, Vorador stopped outside the last room in the corridor, lightly gripped the handle.

"Thank you for helping," Vorador said after a brief moment's quiet.

"I was only doing my duty."

"As my sire?"

Janos tilted his head, wondering what the curious mood Vorador seemed to be in stemmed from; he had seemed pensive since viewing the fire, but that much was to be expected. His question, nonetheless, had an undercurrent Janos could not quite pin down. "As your friend."

Vorador paused before opening his bedroom door and looking at Janos for a long moment before finally saying, "If you force me to ask -"

"Of course," Janos said, realising the obvious truth he had somehow missed - that Vorador still desired him as more than a sire - and entering the room. He'd wondered why Vorador had not brought him into his bedroom earlier, why he had gone to the trouble of setting up a guest's room. It had not even occurred to him that the reason lay in his fledgling thinking that the argument that made them separate had ended any possibility of them being together this way ever again.

He could not shake the feeling that he ought to shake Vorador for being so foolish, but his fledgling seemed intent on giving him an excuse to do it verbally; "How do you still want me?" Vorador asked as he took off his coat, seeming a little thinner than Janos remembered him as if concern for his lost fledglings had slimmed him in the same way Janos always found additional silver streaks in his hair after periods of stress. "Every damned year you look better and I look worse."

Janos shook his head, slipping out of his robes and wondering what to make of the swamp's damp heat as it clung to his skin harder with the shedding of clothes than it ever had while he wore them. "I'll always find you handsome."

"And if my skin turns sunken?" Vorador questioned, the hunger in his eyes starting to overpower the self-hating words, his voice thickening a little as he watched Janos climb onto the bed. "And I look more like a corpse than ever?"

"I'll always know what you can do to me," Janos replied, taking the jar of oil from Vorador's bedside cabinet and holding it out for his fledgling, a little surprised when Vorador did not take it immediately.

"The last change sharpened them," Vorador explained, holding up his hand to demonstrate the decidedly lethal in appearance tips of his claws. Each change made him a little more vampiric, but a little more alien at the same time, and it was always both curious and frightening to see each difference on Vorador after his waking from long periods of unconsciousness. "I'd rather not rend anything asunder by accident."

Janos smiled in amusement as he opened the jar and tipped some of the oil onto his hands, letting it slide down his claws before reaching behind himself to do the necessary duty. Vorador's expression suggested the request that Janos do the honours had not been entirely altruistic, but given his fledgling had no complaints when Janos nipped at the claw Vorador slipped into his mouth, the freedom to make unspoken requests was a two way process.

It had been a while but certain actions were as familiar as breathing and flight, the instinctive motions buried deeper in the mind than mere muscle memory, and even if straddling Vorador's lap was a somewhat unfamiliar position the additional intimacy of it was perfect for the time. He'd have to be careful of his wings lest he accidentally cause them to overbalance but finding a rhythm was easy, Vorador's habits well remembered though his fledgling's technique with the hand he'd taken back from Janos' mouth to stroke his erection had certainly taken on one or two different and appreciated quirks.

"I can't last," Vorador warned, but that was alright; this wasn't meant as only comfort but they had been apart for too long and there had been too many deaths around both of them. The world had hurt; without each other they were alone, Janos as the last of his kind - certainly, as far as he knew - and Vorador as the oldest of his.

"I don't care," Janos replied, leaning back against Vorador's splayed thighs and stretching his arms down between them to lean against the bed for a little more balance, closing his eyes to help him focus on the physical pleasure of this so as not to be left on the edge of orgasm too long after Vorador was through.

.

Regardless of politeness, Vorador always had a sense of common courtesy and even though orgasm had to have exhausted him he still used his clever hand alongside Janos' to help him come at last. There had been better times; hopefully there would be more in the future to look forward to. That much did not matter.

What mattered was knowing this had not changed between them, had not become awkward or full of questions that could never be answered and answers that could never be asked for. These moments afterwards, slicked and sated and calm, were still theirs and all that mattered in the world was them and this brief taste of peace.

"How are you keeping yourself busy?" Vorador mumbled between taking deep breaths, sniffing Janos' hair and skin. They would never cease to be strange to one another; when human, the scent of Vorador's blood and sound of his heartbeat was distracting, while as a vampire, Vorador's skin adjusted to the temperatures around him, warm in the swamp and cool in the aerie.

"Working on the library," Janos replied sleepily, a little more interested in rest than in conversation but willing to answer anyway. "Reading what I have not finished -"

"I'll never understand how you read that way, stopping and starting. I could never keep track of two plots at once."

"That's a researcher's trick. What are you doing?"

"When they aren't throwing themselves into water the fledglings are more than a handful," Vorador replied before smirking. "You should know; you only had one to take care of and I managed to turn your life upside down."

Janos laughed, settling himself more comfortably against the mattress, pushing the blankets on his side down to his hips so he could let his wings settle without feeling crushed beneath the weight of sheets. The swamp water was filthy so he'd have to clean himself through other means when he woke, but at least when he returned to the aerie he could afford a quick visit to the springs if need be. The Reaver would have to be looked at first, of course, though the wards against human attacks ought to have ensured its safety while he was absent.

Waiting for sleep to take him away, Janos took one last look at his fledgling before closing his eyes.

Gold irises suited Vorador. He'd miss the hazel for a while, but gold was not so out of place.

.

Janos was a little surprised to wake alone but was thankful for the bowl of clean water and flannel cloth left on the bedside, wondered for a moment where the water had come from before noticing a message left at the side in Vorador's handwriting;

_Normally I keep the well boarded up, but I'm willing to make a quick exception._

Part of him wanted to scold his fledgling for taking such a risk, but it was a gift and gifts were not for turning down.

.

After cleaning and dressing in his robes, Janos was a little perplexed to find himself accosted by two of Vorador's fledglings on leaving the room who were quite determined to have him sit down long enough to have his hair neatened and wings groomed. Most of him wondered exactly where their master had wandered off to and why he had chosen to have Janos tidied up; at least, he hoped the fledglings were acting on orders and not out of some strange unknown desire. The girl attending to his wings seemed both a little frightened by them and intrigued, her hands far more careful than Vorador's ever were as lightly clawed fingertips worked; she could not have been a vampire for more than a matter of months, if that.

At least vampirism could be passed on by made vampires, Janos mused, trying not to seem too out of sorts as he was groomed despite it being an unexpected surprise so early in the day. Almost as soon as the fledglings were through with him he found himself being led to a staircase, nudged to head up as the door was closed behind him.

It was at once expected and a relief to find Vorador standing outside when he reached the top of the staircase, facing the swamp with distant eyes.

"Dare I ask why I had two of your fledglings preening me almost as soon as I was finished waking up?"

Vorador smirked a little but said nothing, and Janos looked out to see if there was anything in particular that might have caught his fledgling's attention. Nothing immediate came to mind but there was something fascinating in the view nonetheless; where Uschtenheim was plateaus of ice and snow, virtually uninhabited in the area around the aerie save for the few humans who hoped to claim him as a trophy, Termogent seethed with life. Reptiles and birds, the occasional human and hunting dog thinking they might strike lucky despite being outnumbered by vampires for once in this area.

The sense of being watched by more than just a human whose eyes questioned what in God's name he could be - and that was still alien to think, that after enough generations, humans _would not know_ his species - frayed his nerves a little until he looked over and saw Vorador had turned towards him.

He could not help but wonder how long Vorador had been staring. The air was too balmy to be truly comfortable, swamp air sticky on his skin, but in brief doses it was an interesting and fairly pleasant change from Uschtenheim's crispness. Even bearing the warmth in mind, something in the air seemed thicker than usual, and he took a breath to speak but found it cut off when Vorador said, simply as if it wasn't the hardest phrase in the world to say for a man like him, "I love you."

Janos couldn't think of anything to say in return, suspected Vorador knew that already, and waited for his fledgling to act. Strange, to have Vorador's hand close over his own outside the bedroom. And still, even with that contact, words continued to elude him.

Vorador returned to looking out across the swamp, tiny life making the water it thrived on seem less threatening. Somehow the place genuinely seemed more habitable, just knowing that the swamp water no longer hid any vampire corpses that they knew of, but Janos still couldn't bear to live somewhere like this. Flying would be a nightmare in the long run, the build up on his wings greasy, and...

Vorador's free hand brushed the hair back from his face before grasping his chin lightly and tilting it up, eyes fixed firmly on his lips. Janos wondered what would be said this time but the kiss was eloquent enough, and some devilish streak in Janos shivered at the thought of going further than kissing out here in the open. It was a coarse thought, but irresistible, and either Vorador had a psychic streak or his face said what he was thinking because the hand already on his own clasped it tighter before pulling him away from the railing and leading him to the tiny room that topped the staircase up to where they had been standing, nudging him up against the wall. "I'll never be rid of you," Vorador murmured against his ear while grasping the top of his robes and pulling them down.

"Not as long as I live," Janos replied, wings snapping back and knocking a brick out of place as Vorador nipped at his neck.

Still, one brick. It wouldn't do any harm.

.

"You will be careful with your fledglings, won't you?" Janos asked as he redressed, propping himself up by leaning against the stairwell. Not a particularly wise plan, all things considered the building as a whole wasn't entirely structurally stable, but still; at least if he suddenly found himself toppling he could right himself with his wings.

"No human will cause a death in the swamp as long as I can help it," Vorador replied, and Janos realised that his own fledgling hadn't quite grasped what he meant.

"It isn't that what concerns me. The wards set up only offer a certain amount of protection; if a fledgling were to let humans inside -"

"I've told you before. If a fledgling betrayed my trust I'm a practical enough man to know exactly what to do with them."

Strange to hear those words spoken while Vorador ran his clean hand through Janos' hair, hard reality juxtaposed against a calm gesture, Janos mused; he'd had his say though and truth be told, Vorador would be secure enough in the mansion for now. He could visit again later, but it had been too long since he last attended to his duties and he noticed himself relaxing far too easily into the light stroking of Vorador's claws against the fine hairs behind his ear, knew he had to leave regardless of the temptation to stay a while longer. "Vorador, I should return to the Reaver -"

"Forget that -" Janos nearly winced, expecting yet another long and bitter argument about their conflicting feelings regarding the sword and its accompanying legend, but apparently Vorador had learnt to bite his tongue over the years. "Leave the sword be. Regardless of its power, it won't sprout legs and walk away, and it isn't as if the human guardians pay anywhere near as much attention to their duties as you do to yours. You can afford to rest for a minute or two."

He'd learnt seduction in those years too - or rather, elaborated on what techniques he already had. Too tempting by far, and that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? Allowing himself a rest here, a slip there - but he was the last of his kind. He could not afford to make mistakes, not as they had and not as the humans continued to. "I don't need to rest. It's barely past dawn and I slept well last night."

"Liar," Vorador replied with a smirk before he stopped moving his hand, resting it against Janos' ear. "We've had our differences, for want of a better term, but I've always known how to figure you out."

"I miss Uschtenheim," Janos said quietly, and that much wasn't a lie. He had to head home to return to his duties, and the swamp's atmosphere did not soothe the mild homesickness that he felt regardless of how much he enjoyed Vorador's presence.

Vorador pressed his lips tightly together for a moment before saying. "Rest will never been enough for you, will it? You still have that impossible need to look after the Reaver."

Ah. That old argument. "I -"

"I'm not going to fight with you," Vorador interrupted, tone resigned, eyes shadowed with a strange, sad sort of patience. "I think I understand now. I don't agree, but I understand." He looked down for a moment, let out a long breath. "If your saviour did turn up and save Nosgoth, would you stay?"

"Of course," Janos replied, repeating himself when Vorador looked at him as if he were lying. "Of course I would stay. You are the only creature in existence who could bear me for an eternity."

Vorador laughed at that, nodding before folding his arms and closing his eyes. "Coming second best is close to ideal."

Janos didn't know what to say to that - the obvious thought was "You're not second best", but truth be told, Janos always prioritised his duty to the Reaver over all else. Vorador included, and though he could pretend to himself that in a round-about way it was because meeting the saviour would help Vorador as much as any vampire, that wasn't the truth of it. Faced with the blunt truth, the Reaver was a third entity in their relationship and always would be. "I do not deserve you," sufficed, and he pulled his fledgling into his arms, enjoyed the strength of his figure. So many of those he fed on were slight creatures, half-starved and freezing in the cold, and it was good to hold someone solid.

"The Reaver doesn't deserve you," Vorador muttered, but without the intense vindictiveness he normally used to reference the blade, resting his hands at the small of Janos' waist. "You should leave before I'm tempted to chain you into staying," he said after another moment, nudging Janos back and smirking. "You make being noble look far easier than it truly is."

"Practise," Janos teased in return before hopping lightly up onto the balcony, gripping the railings under his feet. "I'll visit soon."

"Make sure you leave time enough for me to miss you," Vorador replied, and then Janos was up, soaring easily above the canopy with his oiled wings as effective preparation against the humid air rising from the swamp, and heading back towards the aerie.

.

Landing lightly on the balcony and looking out at the latest encampment outside the aerie, Janos could not help but muse that an eternity of waiting seemed shorter with company. Granted that the creatures below him detested his very being as shown in the fury on fresh-faced new hunters and the steady hate of those who had been doing their own strange duty by keeping an eye on him for years now, but still, it was better than being wholly alone. And though he knew better than to provoke Vorador with too many visits, knew better than to test his fledgling's nobility and bring back bitter words about the Reaver and his waiting, he knew he would have that option as an alternative on his lowest days when familiar company was more a necessity than a desire.

The Reaver lay in its case, as distinct a presence as any sentient being, waiting for its master just as he did, and Janos opened the box to look at it once more.

Redeemer and destroyer. Janos could not see what hope was left for his race; but for Nosgoth, as long as the Reaver was solid and the arrival of his saviour a possibility, there was still a chance.

Taking a book from his library before returning to the balcony and sitting on its edge, flicking to his favourite passage with the sound of missiles fading into nothing against the wards created, Janos began to read and assume his vigil. It might be a long time coming, but he still had his faith and there was hope yet.

As long as he lived and, God willing, some time after that, there was hope yet.

.

The End


End file.
